


She Is My Only Vice

by Caffiend



Series: The Night Manager Saga [2]
Category: The Night Manager - Fandom
Genre: Daddy Kink, Daddy!Jonathan, F/M, Human Trafficking, India, Jonathan Pine - Freeform, Kidnapping, MI6, Mild BDSM, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Sharks, Strong Women, Suit Kink, Undercover, Voice Kink, Yachts, beautiful clothes, international crime ring, long distance swimming, lots of explosives, non con not character or jonathan, pet parties, satisfying revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:08:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23322205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiend/pseuds/Caffiend
Summary: In which you find that your hard-won new life as Sarah Rogers, linguist and MI6 employee, is about to come crashing down. Even if you're able to outwit the monsters running a vicious human trafficking ring, can you endure working with the man who broke your heart when he left you 2 years ago?This is the sequel to: "Everyone has a Vice, Pine. What is Yours?"
Relationships: Jonathan Pine/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Night Manager Saga [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677196
Comments: 863
Kudos: 338





	1. “Are you ready for me, Agent Rogers? We have much to discuss.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your support, my friends, in adding a sequel to Jonathan and Sirène's adventures! 
> 
> PLEASE REMEMBER, everything I write is 18+. Please respect the age limit. I’m already responsible for traumatizing my own children through my spectacular parenting skills. I can’t be responsible for you, too.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jonathan is unfairly beautiful, and Sarah is quite reasonably furious.

"Oh, _hell_ no!"

You weren't looking anywhere but directly at Angela as you said it, so you watched as one corner of her mouth twitched. You'd managed to surprise her. _Good,_ you thought bitterly. "You told me when I agreed to work for you that I would-"

"Agent Rogers, I would suggest you take a moment and think about what you're saying to your bureau chief." Her voice was sharp.

Taking a deep breath in through your nose and out your mouth, you nodded.

"Good," said Angela, "now sit down, please. Both of you."

The two chairs in front of her desk were uncomfortably close together, and you childishly dragged one away as far as you dared from the man that you still hadn't looked at since your first, shocked stare. 

Jonathan looked fucking amazing, goddamn him.

No indication that the two years between being your Daddy and then moving on with his life like you never existed caused him a moment’s concern. Your palms were sweaty but the rest of you felt chilled, you put one hand over the other and tried to look composed. He also hadn’t spoken once, casually leaning back in his chair with just the proper amount of respect for the head of MI6.

Angela looked at the both of you. “No matter what feelings you’re harboring now-” she looked at you meaningfully as you fumed, “the reality is that the two of you worked very well together in extremely unusual circumstances. Agent Pine had not any experience past his service in Her Majesty’s Army, and you, Agent Rogers, had no experience at all, thrust into a terrifying situation that was not of your own making, but you two created a valuable team.” She leaned back and sighed, suddenly looking exhausted. “We’ve lost contact with the six operatives assigned to the Bachchon ka Bachaav Samaaj. They were making headway in New Delhi with the new supply routes through Pakistan and the United Arab Emirates, and…” 

“What was the last intelligence you had from them?” Jonathan finally spoke, and you hated yourself for the ripple of desperate arousal that went up your spine. 

She pushed a thumb drive over the surface of her desk to each of you. “Here’s what we have on this branch of the human trafficking ring.” She pulled up some documents on the large monitor behind her desk.

Remembering what the title meant with your limited knowledge of Urdu, you said, “They have the sheer gall to call this The Children’s Rescue Society? That’s beyond sick.”

“Ekbal Agarwal is a loathsome piece of shite who has a deep appreciation for irony,” Angela sneered, “and yes, he does procure children from small villages and remote areas under the auspices of the charity, promising the family that their child will be an education and training, and then be returned to them.”

“And they’re never seen again,” you said sadly. Remembering where you were and with who, you straightened up. “So, what’s your plan?”

Angela rubbed the bridge of her nose, you felt softer toward her, despite your resentment about how she’d directed the whole miserable situation with Jonathan. She was clearly exhausted, worried about the missing operatives. “I need someone new that’s not recognizable in the intelligence circles. Ironically, you’re both visible in the human trafficking circles, thanks to Roper’s games. Based on the fallout from Roper’s capture and subsequent demise… And since Agent Pine returned the money to the buyers,” here, Angela nodded at Jonathan, "they still believe you are the ruthless millionaire you claimed to be."

You finally forced yourself to look at him. Jonathan’s ridiculously handsome face was expressionless, but you recognized the tic in his jaw and knew he was clenching his teeth. “You gave up _three hundred million dollars_ to the arms dealers?” You looked back at your bureau chief. “Why is he not in jail? What-”

“I instructed him to return the funds,” she interrupted. “Do you think they would stop until they got their money back? Do you know how many bodies they’d leave in their wake? Believe me, Agent Rogers, the British government is quite happy with the hundreds of millions of pounds they’ve confiscated from Roper’s holdings.” You briefly thought on Danny and hoped he’d been protected from the reality of his father’s demise.

Nodding your head, you decided to keep your mouth shut and listen. There was complex discussion of the missing operatives and the chances of their survival - which were low - according to the other two, who discussed some movement of the trafficking ring and the best location to infiltrate. Angela finally looked over to you sternly. “A couple of the key lieutenants in the Bachchon ka Bachaav Samaaj have seen you two together, as Jonathan Pine and his … as Sirène, so your appearance as a potential buyer for a new ‘resort’ will not be difficult to establish.” Stabbing a tab on her keyboard, their director pulled up a few pictures. “Sarah, do you recognize any of these men?”

“Yes,” you leaned forward, hands suddenly sweaty again and you clenched them together, “those two-” pointing to a middle-aged man with what looked like a permanent sneer on his face, and a heavily tanned man, younger and far better dressed. “The first was in the basement the night they took me from my apartment. The other…” you frowned. “I’ve seen him twice, he had dinner with Mr. Roper at my restaurant, and then some fancy party where I was working for the caterer.”

Jonathan spoke before Angela could, a finger running pensively over his mouth. “Do you know the name of the host?”

Giving up and wiping your sweaty palms on your expensive new dress, you kept your eyes on the screen and forced yourself to speak civilly. “Giovanni Bianchi, he’s a millionaire, old money I think.”

Angela cocked her head, “Why do you think that?”

You smiled humorlessly. “He talked a lot about racing cars and his new villa in the Maldives. If you’re the one making the money, you talk about making it. If you’re the one inheriting it, you talk about spending it.” You could feel Jonathan’s cobalt eyes on yours. Cobalt. That color meant he was serious. Ugh, you chastised yourself, you’re still gauging his moods? Fuck his moods.

“You’re correct,” he said, his deep, sonorous voice was precise, clipped. “I’d met him at Roper’s at least five or six times. He seemed more interested in spending money on coke and prostitutes than guns, their friendship seemed odd.” Did Jonathan use any of those prostitutes? Your treacherous mind posed the question before you could smother the thought.

"Maybe not guns,” Angela said, “but certainly peddling flesh.” The memory of that box top opening and all those men leering at you in that vile lingerie and a ball gag came back to you in vivid detail, but you breathed in deep and forced the image away. Her keen brown eyes refocused sharply on you. “You’re already quite aware, Sarah, of how important this is. I have selected you two specifically because you have the greatest chance of success. You need to tell me now that you are capable of behaving professionally and doing your job.”

A good … 60% of you wanted to tell your director that you were not, in fact, willing or capable of working with that man again. Especially not in the same goddamn role you’d been in as his pet. But then Jonathan was speaking calmly, “Yes, of course.” Which meant you’ll look like a child if you refused, like he’d truly wounded you and you couldn’t handle being near him.

“I can conduct myself appropriately,” you said stiffly. “May I speak with you alone, Director?”

Jonathan stood, ever the gracious co-worker. “I’ll wait outside.” He shut the door softly behind him as you had a staredown with the other woman. 

“Was this always the plan,” you asked, “when you hired me? Were you keeping me on hold in Edinburgh until I became useful?”

Angela shook her head, but her mouth was tight and angry. “We tried to take care of you, protect you after such a horrible, life-altering experience. The British government paid for your room and board, your education and counseling, your new identity. You’re an American citizen, Sarah,” she leaned in, emphasizing your new name. “If I hadn’t taken you under my wing, what do you think would have happened to you?”

 _Jonathan would have come back,_ that sad, childish bit of you still insisted. 

"I..." you paused, trying to gather your thoughts. You'd simply done as you'd been told, just like with Jonathan. "I suppose the US ... the CIA would have...?"

"Not necessarily," Angela cut in. "Did Jonathan ever speak to you of Sophie?"

Your hands tightened on your skirt, "Yes. At the end when he told me everything."

"You may not know that he tried to get protection for her from the British Government for her courage in turning over the documents that could have, at the very least started investigations into Roper's activities. He promised her she would be safe." Angela huffed, "After she'd released the documents, his contact within this organization told him that our people would not protect her. She was beaten to death by Freddie Hamid, he was trying to force her to tell him who she'd given the papers to."

You were struck with grief for a woman you’d never met, but really much like you’d been, trapped and dependent on a man with her life meaning so little to anyone. “That’s- poor Sophie,” you said. “So what you’re trying to share with me, Director Burr, is that Sophie’s fate could have easily been mine without your intervention? And that if you wished, you could simply withdraw my British papers and send me back to the states, where I’d likely be found and killed by some thug associated with Roper?”

“Or taken again,” her words were clipped, you knew Angela was furious but you wanted it out, all of it, all the cards on the table so you at least finally see the hand you’d been dealt. 

“So my safety is only as long-lived as my usefulness.” It wasn’t a question, and you stayed expressionless, staring at her.

“I am not my predecessor!” Angela gritted out. “So, no. I do not intend to throw you out into the world. As far as anyone knows, you are Sarah Rogers and that is how it will stay. But I will not stand by and allow tens of thousands of other young women, of children, to be taken to very short and painful, unspeakable lives. I do expect you, as one fortunate to have escaped that, to have the common decency to not allow it either. Not when you are a key to destroying these men.”

You felt numb as she finished scourging you, boneless. “Understood, Director. And for the record, I would have always agreed to stay and do everything I could to stop these loathsome fuc- this ring. But I wouldn’t have felt like such a dupe if you'd been clear with what you wanted from me in the beginning."

“You are very close to overstepping your bounds, agent.” Angela was done, and so were you. Nodding, you rose.

“Thank you for your time, Director Burr.”

Settling your face into a composed expression and ignoring the shrieking in your head, you walked out of her office, only to feel your heart sink as you realized Jonathan had waited for you.

Holding up the flash drive, he asked, “Are you ready for me, Agent Rogers? We have much to discuss.”


	2. "It's Just An Act."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sarah grits her teeth and tries to remember that She Is A Professional.

Holding up the flash drive, he asked, “Are you ready for me, Agent Rogers? We have much to discuss..."

Instantly, you wanted to lower your head and nod obediently. And just as immediate was the sensation of self-disgust. Really? After two years of putting yourself back together after he’d left you behind like one more complication from his mission, you almost deferred to him, like muscle memory? What the actual fuck?

“We’ll need to use a secure meeting room,” you said crisply, walking past Jonathan and his polite, slightly puzzled expression.

“Let’s use your office-” he started and you cut him off.

“No. I just have a cubicle.” Stopping in front of what the Documentation and Linguistics Department whimsically called the “Clean Room,” you tapped in a code and slid your badge down the black panel. Not waiting for him as he attempted to open the door for you like a gentleman, you not-quite stomped in and flicked on the wall screen and the sound dampening switch. Extending one hand as you stared at the computer, you said, "The flash drive please?"

There was the slightest exhale of breath, just enough to know Jonathan was growing impatient. But he took a seat after handing you the drive and lounged back gracefully.

You were staring at the data on the screen, trying to think of something intelligent to say, something an operative would say. But the only thing that came to mind was that they parsed the grammar incorrectly when translating some of the email messages from Arabic.

“The plan is to infiltrate Giovanni Bianchi’s side of the business,” Jonathan’s tone was calm and resonant, you recognized it as the one he used when calming you … before. “He was responsible for your initial abduction, and he builds the records sent back to the family’s about their child’s untimely death, if it looks like they’re the kind to put up a fuss.”

You pressed your lips together. Your parents wouldn’t have bothered to answer the phone call. You did know after everything was over that your aunt who you’d kept in touch with had made desperate inquiries about bringing your body home to bury. It pained you still to think of her grieving over you. “Why not go directly at Ekbal Agarwal if he’s the ringleader here? Surely your cover gives enough credence to buying … you know,” you cleared your throat, “slaves.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him lean in, looking more closely at the data. “It’s next to impossible. One of the tactics that keep Agarwal in business is that someone else does the dirty work. He’s the conduit that moves the cargo from one location to the next. We need someone else in his circle to vouch for us.”

Rubbing the back of your neck, you were suddenly swept with a longing for your little place in Edinburgh, where no one talked about stealing children and referring to them as “cargo” and the most challenging thing you were required to do was get a translation finished in time for a professor.

Waiting for you to respond, Jonathan paused for a moment, then continued. “The plan is to return to the Maldives and meet up with Bianchi. MI6 has selected a building site on an island off Singapore that has construction activity to use as our resort site.” His thin mouth twisted. “We will attempt to purchase young women and…” 

Despite yourself, you looked at him. “And what?”

“Children,” he answered flatly.

“Of course,” you said, staring at the screen, “of course we would.”

__________________

“You will not remember this, but Bianchi was a guest the night you were presented to me as a … a gift. The two of us together only adds to the authenticity of our story.” Jonathan was still clicking through files on the flash drive, enlarging some of the folders on the smart screen. But he could see his Sirène - _Sarah,_ Jonathan reminded himself - Sarah’s face flushed pink. He’d always loved that little trait, what a pretty color her skin turned when his hands were on her, his whispers in his girl’s ear. While he calmly recited facts and figures, placement and procedure, he couldn’t take his eyes off her profile. His Sarah was nervous, wiping her palms repeatedly on that sophisticated dress. He loved how she looked in it, the simple lines of it showcasing her beautiful arms and the delicate lines of her collarbones. He used to run the tip of his tongue along the elegant sweep of them, feeling her breasts heave against his chest...

With an internal groan, Jonathan forced his attention back to the task at hand. He could tell she was still angry, agitated but forcing herself to concentrate. 

“When do we leave?” 

He looked up at her dispirited tone. “Tomorrow morning,” Jonathan answered evenly. “I know you are displeased, Sir- Sarah, but we must maintain our roles in public.”

She finally stood, those eyes, the color of bitter chocolate looking down at him. “I’m invested in this outcome, in bringing these bastards to justice. So I’ll play my part. But it’s exactly that, Agent Pine. An act.” Sarah’s pretty face was cold, but her heaving chest gave her away. “Just an act.” He watched as she headed for the door with a look of relief, happy to be away from him. The thought punched him in the chest, but it was something Jonathan was used to. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” And then she was gone, that faint, sweet scent of citrus she wore lingering behind her. 

______________________

You made it through the rest of the day, casually chatting with your co-workers and trying to finish up a couple of data analysis projects you’d been working on, so you were one of the last people to leave your department that night. It was a warm, inviting night so you walked home slowly, skirting through the street market and picking up some nice, greasy lamb kebabs to take home, smiling at the vendors calling to you, urging you to buy some ripe figs, or a striped skirt. You’d miss this, the freedom to go where you wanted, to choose what you ate, what you wore. You knew that would be over, starting tomorrow. 

“Hallo? Sarah?” 

“Hey, doc,” you said, smiling awkwardly at your perplexed therapist. Morag’s burgundy hair was sticking up in clumps and it was clear she’d taken your call right out of the shower. “Thanks for picking up, I know it’s late.”

“Eh.” She was settling into a chair, propping up her phone and putting on her horn-rimmed glasses. “It’s all right. Congratulations on your degree, and your new job.” 

“Thanks…” your houseboat’s excellent security system meant this call couldn’t be intercepted, but you both knew better than to be specific. “So you said I could call if things got weird, and after tonight I won’t be able to call anymore, so, I just. Well.”

Her sharp hazel eyes looked you over. “I’m gathering that your simple job description just got more complicated?”

You stiffened. “Did you know about the director’s plans too? Jesus, did everyone know but me?”

Morag snorted, putting up one hand to halt your indignation. “No. But you’d be wasted on data analysis, dear. And I think you know it. So what’s got you the most agitated?”

Your nose was prickling, an irritating precursor to tears, and you irritably rubbed the back of your hand against it. “Remember the guy who thought it would be for my own good if he just dumped me?”

Morag groaned. “Really now? He’s involved in this new assignment?”

Chuckling bitterly, you spat it out, the words you’d only been able to say to her once in a session. “He’s my daddy.”

Blowing out a breath of air, you both pondered the words for a moment. Standing up, your therapist carried the phone with her as she went for her liquor cabinet. “Sarah, go grab yourself your drink of choice, this might take a while.” 

This time your laughter was genuine. Pulling a half-finished bottle of Chenin Blanc from the fridge, you took your first deep breath of the day.

Your clothes were packed in an expensive piece of Louis Vuitton luggage that was delivered to the houseboat last night and you wore a pale blue sundress, similar to the ones Jonathan had purchased for you when he was your daddy when the requisite shiny, black SUV pulled up the next morning. And when the door opened and he stepped out, your breath caught in your throat. He was wearing a beautifully tailored beige suit that made his eyes blaze like the ocean, and for a moment it felt like the last two years had never happened, that you loved him and you thought he loved you, that you were about to embark on yet another luxurious trip dedicated to Mr. Roper’s latest monstrous negotiation.

Then Jonathan looked down at you and smiled professionally. “Are you ready, darling?”

Gritting your teeth for a moment, you dipped your head sweetly. “Of course, daddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there is Hate Sex on the way, I had a hard time splitting the narrative. But yes, there is angry, scratching, ass-slapping smut in the next chapter. Oh, yes...


	3. I Do Not Share My Pets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jonathan and Sarah are introduced to a vile new cast of characters. Also, an uncomfortable faux orgy and blistering Hate Sex.
> 
> Trigger warnings for human trafficking, "pet parties," explicit and intense smut.

It was depressing how quickly all your old mannerisms came back.

Jonathan helped you out of the car, keeping hold of your hand as you walked to the jet. He led slightly, one step ahead and you at his right shoulder. You were left-handed, and you just realized now that he always took that hand. 

Once seated in the jet, you were shaken when he briskly shook a cashmere travel blanket over your lap. “I know you’re always chilly when we fly, darling.” His tone was soothing and matter of fact, but it was his “Daddy” voice. The voice that told you He Knew Best. Your gaze darted to the flight attendant who was adding some supplies to the liquor cabinet. Was this for her benefit, or yours? He’d slipped so easily back into daddy mode, that it sent a shudder up your spine, making his assumption seem correct. Jonathan finished settling the soft material over your lap and gave you a lazy smile. 

That heartless, good-looking son of a bitch.

After you’re in the air and alone in the cabin, you type out a message on your phone. _“Can we talk? Is there a bug?”_

Jonathan shook his head, “The cabin is clean, I’ve swept it.” He gave you a slow smile, the fine lines around those vivid azure eyes deepening slightly, his cheekbones more prominent. “But what a clever girl to ask.”

Taking in a long breath, you count silently. _One, two, three … you can’t stab him. One, two, three..._ His eyes narrow slightly as he watches your tight jaw. “Since we’re not being monitored, Agent,” you almost snarl at him, but you dial it back a bit. Sadly, not enough to sound like the cool professional you’d hoped to pretend you were. “I would appreciate you speaking to me as a co-worker, rather than something you picked up off the black market.”

And, when Jonathan does open his mouth, out, comes the beautiful, urbane smoothness you still remember in your dream, his perfectly enunciated Britsh accent that makes you want to climb him like a howler monkey going after a guava. "Of course, Agent," he says calmly. "Let's go over our story again..."

The house is magnificent, situated over the water overlooking the white sand beaches and surrounded by the ocean, an almost peculiar shade closer to Nile green than the standard blue. You watched as a stingray breached the surface of the water and joyfully slammed back in, sending up a huge spray. The villa was a white stone, designed with care for one room to flow into the next, with two pools bisecting the kitchen area from the living room, and another in the master bedroom. Were these pools? Or big-ass foot-baths? Did oxen or something wander through here to get a drink? The vision of the shitty little apartment you grew up in rose up, just as vivid as the day you’d walked out of there. Who actually lived like this, aside from people like Mr. Roper? “And us,” you mumbled absently.

“What did you say, darling?” Jonathan was opening the double doors to a ridiculously huge bathroom - with one wall that was a massive glass slider. He pulled it open to reveal a blinding view of the ocean and an elaborate outdoor shower. You remembered him bathing you under the shower in Mr. Roper’s guesthouse, the ocean breeze sweeping over you as he’d play with your soapy breasts… That memory had given you some amazing self-induced orgasms until you’d realized he was never coming back. Then you stopped touching yourself because if you tried, all the memories of Jonathan and his big, calloused hands and even bigger cock would swamp you. So, not only did Mr. Secret Agent Man take away your trust when he dumped you, he took away your orgasms. And after teaching you just how good they could be? That was the meanest thing anyone had ever done to you.

Pressing your lips together, you walked past him and put your expensive, MI6 - funded Hermes suitcase in the dressing room/closet. "I said, do not call me darling unless we're on the clock. It's 'agent' to you." Raising a haughty brow, you snarled, “Not unless it’s work-related.” You tried to move past him and out of the room, and he simply … really, Jonathan just took one step and suddenly you felt surrounded by him, his broad chest right in front of you, and his warmth radiated over you. He’d always had an internal temperature closer to a blast furnace. Some things never changed. You squared your shoulders. But some things did. “Could you step aside?”

Instead, his hands slid over your elbows, gently holding you in place. “I am sorry I did not contact you after the mission was over. I am sorry you were left wondering why.”

You pondered ripping your arms free, maybe slapping him really hard. But even with all your new self-defense skills, Jonathan was gigantic. You'd forgotten how big. Not bulky, but lean and defined muscle and a terrifying economy of movement that had always reminded you that back there in the desert, that he had killed a man with his bare hands.

Instead, you gave an unamused, rusty-sounding chuckle. “Really? And tell me, Jonathan. Exactly why are you sorry?” His brow rose with interest. He hadn’t expected that response. Good.

“I … am sorry because you deserved to hear why,” he answered slowly, his gaze still intent on yours. “Because you deserved to know how courageous you were, and how important you were to the success of the mission.”

You had not known that it could actually hurt worse. “You’re sorry because you didn’t give me a pat on the back and a ‘well done?’ Seriously?” you asked incredulously, “That’s why you’re apologizing?” Jonathan was frowning down at you, his beautiful face stern, looking a little concerned for you.

"Sirène, I-”

“MY NAME IS-” you took a breath. Raising your voice? Really? Way to keep a cool head. “My name is Sarah. Sarah. You don’t get to call me that any more.”

“Not in private, Agent, of course.” Jonathan’s voice stopped you again, cold, precise and clipped. He stepped closer still but you refused to look away. “But you will not endanger this mission by behaving like an angry little girl who didn’t receive a pony on her birthday.” Your eyes widened and you opened your mouth to spit something venomous, but he put up one haughty finger. “I am not finished. A true professional can separate their feelings from their role. You are my dutiful, obedient Sirène. If you forget and accidentally call yourself Sarah, you could blow our cover and it could put us in the same grave where I fear our 6 colleagues are buried. Accept who you must be while we’re here, in just the same way you did before when you were kidnapped. Because, darling,” he emphasized, “our lives are dependent on it once again. So far better for me to slip in this direction when we’re alone than for you to do so when we are attempting to negotiate for the lives of countless women and children.” His eyes were blazing and you gritted your teeth. “Do you understand?”

With some effort, you unlocked your jaw. “I do. But do make the effort to remember - in private at least - that you do not own me.”

Your staring match was broken by the angry buzzing of his phone and he opened it, still eyeing you coldly. "Pine. Ah, Giovanni, how are you?" The speaker was loud enough for you to hear both sides of the conversation, so you stayed where you were, even if it was uncomfortably close to the man who was most definitely not your daddy. “Very well, then I shall see you tonight. What? Ah. No, that will not be necessary, I’ll be bringing my own.” An indulgent chuckle, which made you want to stab him. “Yes, the very one. I understand I have you to thank for that particular gift?” Another “we’re all rich bastards here” kind of laugh, and Jonathan hung up. 

Stepping away, you took in a deep breath. “Jumping right in, huh?” When he nodded, his eyes kinder now, you nodded back. “Okay, what’s the dress code for walking, talking property at events like these?”

________________________

There was something vaguely unsettling to Jonathan that his- that Sarah was just as lovely enraged as she was sweet and submissive. Her cheeks were flushed prettily as he’d selected a dress for her out of two she’d held up in resignation. He knew she’d be underdressed, compared to most of the other women, but that’s exactly what he intended. She needed to be as sweet and unspoilt as possible to play the role of his submissive. The thought tormented him. It shouldn’t be arousing. It shouldn’t be anything. 

But she looked so lovely in the flowing white dress, cut low in the back, long, but with clean lines and simple silver jewelry. Sarah still had some of her summer tan left, and the dress made her skin glow. She’d pulled her hair up into an elegant little chignon and he’d silently handed her the light pink lipstick from her bag, which she took with narrowed eyes.

Sarah had flinched a bit when he’d put his hand on the bare skin of her back as he guided her to the car. “A - wow, what is this?”

“An Aston Martin Valkyrie,” Jonathan answered with a wry smile, “not my choice but it’s impressive.”

“Yeah…” she agreed vaguely, staring at the long, sleek lines. “It definitely sets the standard.” He opened the door to the low-slung sports car and held out a hand. This time, she took it, gathering her skirt in the other. Watching the dress slide up her smooth thighs made him close his eyes briefly and groan silently. "We're attending Giovanni Bianchi's party, but the main objective is to meet up with the buyers from Agarwal’s group.” Sarah was speaking matter of factly, but it took a moment for Jonathan to force his brain into motion again.

“Yes, we must be certain we have more than one way to get to the New Delhi group,” he agreed, “this party tonight…” He admired how his- how Sarah’s lovely face stayed calm, expressionless.

“Yes?”

“It is specifically for the wealthy and their pets.” Jonathan forced himself to stay matter of fact, “You may see women being led by leashes, some in formal dress, some in nothing at all.”

Looking down at her pretty white dress, Sarah chuckled. “Your selection hits right about in the middle, it makes sense now. Who am I focusing on?"

"Piero Esposito, you remember him from the dossier?" She nodded, good girl, Jonathan thought. "He's a close friend of Bianchi's, and he will be bringing his wife, along with his pet tonight."

She merely raised one brow, "An open-minded woman."

"Don't underestimate her," Jonathan warned, "the information we have shows her as the catalyst for Esposito to get into the flesh trade. See if you can gather anything from her - she's quite fond of -" his gorge rose, and he had to swallow. After everything he'd done in the army, in combat, with Roper and still, this made him sick. "She's very fond of sweet, young girls."

"Oh, I can be that," Sarah said calmly. They turned onto the long driveway, lined with flowers and gorgeous, blooming trees and the lights of the massive villa at the end nearly blinded them. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at him. "Are you ready, Daddy?"

Jonathan's knuckles went white on the steering wheel as he concentrated on keeping his cock from tearing through the zipper of his pants.

____________

It was ironic, you mused as Jonathan - ah, Daddy - helped you out of the Aston Martin, that while you'd been thrown in with some of the most vile and evil men on the planet when you'd been kidnapped, you'd really been sheltered from the horrors of what they did. Your life with Jonathan was mainly wrapped up in pretty things, elegant places to live and beautiful locations to travel to. Other than the night you'd woken up in that dark basement and then unveiled before Roper and his revolting posse, you'd been spared the most of what could happen to someone bought and sold. So tonight was going to suck.

Just before the valet hastened to open your door, Jonathan put his hand on your leg. "Sirène, listen carefully. Do not eat or drink anything not given to you by my hand. Do you remember our old rules?"

Oh, god. You flushed painfully at the avalanche of memories _that_ stirred up. But you nodded, "Yes, Daddy."

"Good girl." his voice dipped, turning a bit guttural, and you pressed your thighs together. _Damn_ him.

That warm, fuzzy feeling disappeared as soon as you stepped through the doors of the palatial home. You averted your eyes as two naked women, maybe eighteen, tottered after a balding, banker-type guy who was leading them on leashes. There were astonishingly beautiful women there - dressed in obscenely expensive couture gowns and dripping with jewelry. Your hand went up to your pretty silver necklace, but you dropped it as soon as Jonathan looked down at you. Holding his hand, just a step behind him. There was another stunning girl strutting by with a tray full of drinks and - what the - was that a _tail?_ It was swinging from her perfect bottom as she passed by, giving your daddy a sultry look.

You were hit with a paralyzing sense of inadequacy. What the hell was Angela thinking, sending you out in the field? You couldn’t even look up from your perusal of your expensive new shoes. You were going to get Jonathan and yourself killed. How could you possibly-

“Pine! Good to see you! Oh, and your little girl. Charming.” It was that smug asshole Giovanni Bianchi and he was shaking Jonathan’s hand while looking you over. “Quite a bit better than when they delivered her, I see. You’ve trained her beautifully.”

“Little one,” your daddy’s sonorous voice was calm, composed, “say hello to our host.”

“Hello, Signor Bianchi,” you nearly whispered, “thank you for such a lovely party.”

There was more entitled, manly chuckling and offering of drinks before the well-dressed monster wandered off and Jonathan was pulling you through the crowd. At first, you'd noticed the women - naked and leashed, or bejeweled and lavishly dressed but now you noticed the men. You recognized the look - custom suits and handmade shoes, ridiculously expensive watches - and cold, dead eyes. Like a shark's, lifeless but some examined you greedily, others only because of who you were attached to as Jonathan smoothly moved through the room, shaking hands, greeting some men by name and sharing false condolences about the untimely end of Dickie Roper, psychopath and arms dealer. 

"Ah, Jonathan Pine, isn't it? Gio told us you'd be attending tonight, Piero Esposito. And this lovely woman is my wife Carlotta." Your quarry was older, in his sixties but with a firmness that spoke of a physical trainer. He'd not bothered to introduce the girl trying not to cower behind the couple, being pulled on a leash held in the claw of The Wife. Jonathan didn't bother to introduce you, either so you silently stood, watching the exchange from your lowered lashes. This Carlotta was beyond scary, mid-thirties maybe, with the immobile expression from too much Botox and unnaturally firm breasts left half-exposed by her glittering dress.

The men and Carlotta were heading toward some plush seating just outside the door and facing the ocean, and there was a small yelp when the woman yanked viciously on the leash attached to their pet. She stumbled a little and you instinctively reached out to grab her arm, steadying her as you both followed them. She looked up at you from the corner of her eye and you gave her a small smile.

“Sit on Daddy’s lap,” Jonathan was patting one muscled thigh and you remembered how he’d gotten you off by riding that very same leg. But you perched carefully, looking down at your hands folded in your lap. The poor girl next to you was simply thrown to the floor. He took a drink from another server wearing a tail - how the hell were they keeping those on? “No, nothing for her,” dismissing her as she proffered a drink to you as he kissed the inside of your wrist. Was he trying to soothe you or turn you on?

You uncomfortably shifted a bit until Jonathan’s arm tightened painfully around your waist. With an internal sigh, you leaned against his hard chest and set to watching the ebb and flow of partiers around you, looking for faces recognizable from the surveillance photos you’d both been studying. There were two - your eyes narrowed, watching them circulate. The dark-haired man was hauling along two unfortunate girls, pulling angrily when one stumbled over her heels. _‘You’re here to save thousands,’_ you painfully reminded yourself, _‘thousands. Keep it together.’_ The other recognizable face was standing with their loathsome host, an African man, skin so black as to be polished ebony, an extremely expensive suit, listening to Giovanni talk while scanning the room over his drink.

 _‘Debare Oni,’_ you remembered, barely stopping yourself from nodding. One of Agarwal’s chief “suppliers,” especially active in the Middle East and the African continent. Brutal, exceptionally vicious. To your horror, he was also now looking in your direction. Lowering your lashes, you obediently took a sip when Jonathan raised his drink to your lips. Scotch. Of course.

"Well, what have we here? Such a lovely bevy of women!" The smooth, Nigerian-accented voice belonged to the man you'd just ID'd and up close, you could see how he slipped through so many snares. Oni was extremely handsome, pleasant and charming as he greeted the Esposito's and was introduced to Jonathan, who graciously invited him to join the group.

The men and Carlotta chatted idly for a while before Giovanni drew everyone’s attention to a cushioned area in front of your group. Two young women stepped behind him and he ordered them to kiss, attaching their leashes to each other. You realized now why the vile Espositos had picked that spot, you had the best view in the house. Unfortunately. 

The two girls were quite adept and took to each other with a certain level of false excitement. You kept your eyes on Jonathan’s hand, currently settled on your thigh, refusing to watch, but you heard them quite clearly. You remembered something you’d been told during your crash course in sex slavery. “The owners often require their girls to perform,” Angela said coldly, “but the girls cannot appear to truly enjoy it. The men that own them want it made clear that they’re not. That they are engaging in whatever act because they are ordered. The balance of force is important to the audience. The act of enthusiasm while performing as forced while not enjoying it at all is considered quite an art." When you dared look for a moment, you could see it as the two slaves writhed and moaned around each other. But their coos and gasps were hollow, and their eyes were empty.

After the finish, there was a round of applause and Gio spread his hands genially. "The young ladies are available to any guest here, feel free." His eyes settled on your group. "Now then, would anyone else like to offer their pet for another show?"

"Here!" rasped Carlotta, holding up the leash of the miserable girl cowering next to her. You could feel Jonathan's fingers tighten slightly on your thigh, a warning as she was pulled into the cushions. 

"And your little girl, Pine?" Debari Oni was swirling his drink idly, but those black eyes were focused on you. "I would enjoy such a sight. I'm sure she would be lovely with her mouth buried in the muff of another." You heard the chuckles of those around you and kept your head bowed. 

Here was the voice you always prayed would not be directed at you. A tone your daddy used when he was debating between speaking to someone or stabbing them. His tone turned frigid, his words chipped off like from a block of ice. "No. I find girl on girl ... a little ordinary these days."

Undeterred, Oni pushed, "Then would you make her available to me for sampling? She is quite delectable."

Eyes blazing like blue fire, Jonathan leaned in close to the Nigerian. "I do not share my pets."

"Oh, come now, Pine! I'll give you 20,000 pounds. You can watch, of course." The man's tone was still amused, indulgent, certain that it was only a matter of bargaining.

To your horror, Jonathan actually paused for a moment, appearing to think it over. Finally, he shrugged elegantly. "Not at this time, Oni." He stood then, pulling you along behind him as the fabricated sighs of the new pets giving each other oral sex faded away.

You waited demurely while Jonathan bid Giovanni goodnight and ushered you into the Aston Martin. After a few minutes of silence, you burst out, “What the hell was that?”

He didn’t take his eyes off the road, only lifting an elegant brow. “What ‘the hell’ was what, darling?” 

“When that psycho Nigerian wanted you to loan me out like a library book and you actually looked like you were thinking about it? Could you have encouraged him more? For fuck’s sake!”

Now, Jonathan glanced over at you, eyes narrowed. “You’re a slave, or did you forget that? You’re property. Do you expect me to behave as if this is true love? That guarantees they’d see you as leverage.”

You were inches away from flinging yourself over the stick shift and gouging his eyes out. “Oh, god forbid. Love? Not with a fucking piece of property!” 

“Is there a rational reason for this tantrum?” he asked, his tone infuriatingly calm.

“Rational? Rational! Oh, of course. If a woman is angry, it must be because she’s irrational, right? There are plenty of excellent reasons that I’m furious, and that bullshit back at White Slaver Central is just the latest!” You were so enraged that it took you a moment to realize Jonathan had pulled up in front of your villa. Flinging the door open, you struggled ungracefully with your long dress and high heels as you attempted to get out of the low-slung sports car. Finally heaving yourself out of the leather seat as he rounded the car, you stomped into the house. You defiantly headed for the wine cooler and hauled out a bottle of white, you gulped a full glass before pouring another and turning to glare at Jonathan, who’d remained infuriatingly cool and was just pulling off his suit jacket. 

“Why don’t you take a moment to calm down and then we’ll speak rationally,” he soothed, giving you the Daddy voice again.

“Why don’t you stop acting like a condescending asshole and I won’t crack you over the head with this wine bottle?” you sneered.

Shaking his head, you saw the first flicker of ... something uncertain in his expression. "Is this who you always were? Was the girl I knew before a complete fabrication?"

Your vision hazed over, and you took another swallow of wine to keep from stabbing him with the corkscrew. Placing your glass down with care, you finally spit out, “Goodness, you must forgive me if my demeanor here as a free woman and a professional is less attractive to you than when I was kidnapped and forced into sex and submission with you.” You saw him flinch at the word “forced” and it made you oddly happy. “And while we’re on the topic, Agent Pine, was your behavior also complete bullshit? Remember, when you told me you’d protect me, that you’d always-” Fuck. Your throat closed up, trying to swallow the tears back down.

His expression went from displeased to almost condescending, kind, but condescending. “You were a beautiful, very brave young woman, put into a nightmare through no fault of your own, Sir- Sarah. I did what I had to in order to keep you alive. I have always wanted you to be safe.”

“Really?” you drew out the word between clenched teeth, “So leaving me in the hospital beaten up and with a bullet wound was part of protecting me? Dumping me like another unwanted obligation was protecting me? Can you be a bigger asshole right now?”

_____________________

  
  


Jonathan Pine, who had scored at 140 - genius level - in the Army’s IQ intake assessment, stared at her beautiful wet eyes and did the stupidest possible thing. Stepping forward and gently placing his hands on her shoulders, he said, “Darling, you’re very young. I know it’s difficult to understand, and I did not want to walk away. But I did it for your well-being. I did it so that you could heal. I made the choice for both of us, I know. But it was the right choice.”

He was always aware of the slightest shift in the room, when things were going bad. So he was very surprised when his confession not only did not dismantle Sarah’s rage but seemed to stoke it.

In fact, her face was white with fury, her lips compressed. “To be clear. You did this for my own good?”

Jonathan’s handsome brow furrowed. "Well … yes.”

Her fist clenched, breaking the wine glass she was holding. “I’m going to go into the bedroom before I fucking kill you, you pompous son of a bitch.”

“What?” Now, he was angry, the tight control on his temper shaken by this infuriating, ungrateful girl. “What did you just say?”

“How fucking dare you make that decision for both of us? How dare you? Do you really think that’s the only frightening, dangerous thing that’s ever happened in my life? That was my entire goddamn childhood! Do you really think Mr. Roper could top anything my parents did to me? And after we’d worked together, how I thought you’d counted on me - trusted me - you walk off because it was for my own good? I HATE YOU!”

He was speechless. Her tears were gone, and her eyes were the color of bitter chocolate again. But her hands were shaking and for the first time, he realized that his Sir- that Sarah had nowhere, no one to go back to after they parted in Cairo. He'd tried so hard to put the memory of her out of his mind, trying to keep away from her so that she could move on with her life, that what she would be facing in witness protection never fully hit him.

Jonathan's head cocked. Hit him.

"Very well," he said briskly, pulling off his tie and rolling up his sleeves. “Go ahead.” He stood before her, hands spread out.

Sarah had been shaking off the shards from her broken wine glass, he was relieved to see she wasn’t cut. “What?” she asked, staring at him as if he lost his mind.

Nodding, Jonathan said, “Yes. Hit me. You have the right. Go ahead and hit me. You’ll feel better.” The words were barely out of his mouth when her elbow came up under his jaw, knocking him off his feet and slamming down on to the rug. Jonathan looked up in shock, the little witch was grinning. He was up on his feet in a second but by then her foot swung around in a graceful arc, nailing him right in the kidneys and putting him on his knees. He laughed a little breathlessly. “Got some of that anger out of your system?” 

Sirène was standing over him, looking furious and magnificent, holding the long skirt in one hand, the other in a fist. Then she smiled. “Not yet.” Swinging out her knee to nail him in the ribs, she yelped when Jonathan’s hand shot up, grabbing her leg and twisting it, sending her down on her ass. Rolling on her back and neatly on to the other knee, she was up again and landed a punch on his jaw.

Hearing his teeth clack together hard enough to wonder if he’d chipped one, Jonathan pulled back. “That’s enough!” he said sternly, “You’ve had your pound of flesh.”

But she launched at him, the precision of her martial arts gone and now more a flurry of slaps. “No! It isn’t enough! Two years and the best you can come up with is ‘I did it for your own good?’ Well, screw you, Jonathan, and-”

With a growl, he took Sirène’s wrist and spun her, crossing her arms over her breasts, her back pinned to his chest. Jonathan tucked his head into her shoulder, breathing through the radiating pain in his ribs. “That is enough.” With his face buried in her hair, he could feel his cock begin to stiffen. God, the smell of his girl, the heat radiating from her, her heaving chest. His arms tightened over her. “I missed you. Constantly. Always.” His mouth fastened over the pulsing artery in her neck, sucking on it for a moment, the taste of her slamming back into his senses after so long and it was so good… One hand went to her chin and turned it, forcing her to look up at him. “The taste of you. Your strength. Your mouth.” Jonathan kissed her, grunting a bit when she bit him. “Your courage, even after they hurt you.” He sucked on her soft earlobe, enjoying the press of her breasts against the bare skin of his forearm. Sirène was still panting, but she wasn’t trying to pull away any more. “The sounds you make when I touched you.” His big hand slid down to hold her breast, squeezing gently. A little gasp escaped her open mouth, and Jonathan felt himself swell even harder. “Yes, darling girl, just like that. Your daddy has missed y-”

With a huge heave of her shoulders, she pulled away from him. “You are not my daddy!” Sarah hissed, “You don't get to be that anymore.”

Jonathan was back on her in a second, hands sliding to her waist and around to her back, pulling her hard against him. “Then I will be who you want me to be, just for tonight.” His heart was pounding hard enough that he was sure she could feel it against her shoulder. Putting his mouth against the skin of her throat, he waited. 

___________

If you closed your eyes, you could believe you were back in the expensive villa in the Seychelles, or the tent in the desert, or the hotel suite in Cairo where the Nile River flowed by. Jonathan felt the same, hard body pressed against yours and those big, stupid, gorgeous hands running along you and squeezing soft and secret places. His mouth was hot, moving up your neck and whispering low, luscious things in your ear, his exquisite voice gone darker, guttural. Your knees nearly buckled. You waited for him to push you gently in the direction of the master bedroom, but your (former) daddy stood still, just rocking you slightly as he bit and suckled your skin. 

Bastard.

He was making this your choice. You thought of shoving him away and heading into the bedroom, locking the door and leaving him there, hard and wanting. The image pleased you immensely, but the ache in your heart, between your legs, the need to feel his bare skin again and touch that big, perfect cock was so much more intense. _‘Just for tonight?’_ you tried to bargain with yourself.

Irrationally, you turned around in the looser circle of Jonathan’s arms, looking up at him and then slapped him again. Just as his eyes narrowed, you went up on tiptoe and shoved your mouth against his. Not a kiss, exactly. There was biting and licking and someone’s tongue was in someone’s mouth and then you were lifted up, legs wrapping tightly around his narrow waist and his hands were cupping your ass.

Your suddenly wet center was rubbing against his belt buckle as he walked and you could have come right there, just from that.

Setting you on your suddenly wobbly feet, Jonathan took your hands, stretching your arms wide, his gaze moving over you slowly, from toes to the top of your head. “So beautiful…” It wasn’t quite a growl, not exactly a purr, but you took his hand and pressed it against your undies, watching his expression change. More focused, intent. The look that you remembered before he’d fuck you into unconsciousness. You needed that, you didn’t want to think about anything, you just wanted to feel him finally, finally after all that time you’d waited, so sure he was coming.

“Make me come,” you said, and began pulling at his shirt. His fingers found the clasp to your dress and not-quite yanked it off you. Then you were on your back on the bed and his mouth was sucking greedily at your nipple while his long fingers dug into your channel and your back arched and with a shriek, you were coming. God, you came within like 42 seconds of him touching you? The embarrassment was gone when suddenly it was his head between your legs instead of his fingers, and his patrician nose pressed hard against your clit while his tongue thrust inside you. The muscles in your thighs were trembling and you blindly grabbed at his head, fingers sinking into his hair, still soft and in his short military-style haircut. His cock was pressing against your leg, his hips thrusting mindlessly and you could feel the heat of his weeping tip leaving trails of slick on your skin. 

“Come again, little girl,” Jonathan didn’t even bother to lift his head, saying the words against your swollen lips and then his teeth sinking into one and- oh, _god_ you _were_ coming again.

The rush of blood when he pulled you upright made you dizzy for a moment, and then he sat on the edge of the bed, swinging one of your legs over to straddle him. Your hands were gripping his shoulders hard, squeezing a little too hard, but he didn’t flinch, looking at you closely. “Now, put me inside you.” His hand was holding his lovely, thick cock up for you, the other on your hip to steady you. His tight abdominal muscles were beautifully sculpted, and his - could your memory have actually underestimated his size? How did that fit? But when the broad head first breached you, you sucked in a breath. “Shhh…” Jonathan soothed, “being back inside you, you wrap around me like warm, wet silk.” He was looking at you, trying to look into your eyes so you dipped your head, putting your teeth into that solid muscle where his neck met his shoulder. You heard his slightly pained hiss, but his huge, rough palms were sliding over the globes of your bottom and he squeezed roughly in retaliation, pulling you down over his cock until you could feel the wiry curls of his pelvis rubbing over your acutely sensitive clitoris. His forehead dipped against your shoulder for a moment. “So snug, sweet girl,” Jonathan’s sonorous voice drawled in your ear, “has any other man been inside this sweet, perfect cunt? I suspect not.”

“N- none of your business,” you managed to stammer while trying to breathe. He was so deep - god, it felt like he was pressing up by your belly button, this solid column of hot flesh. Like you’d been waiting for him to fill you again. Like you’d been empty since he left. You were not going soft for this man again! Tightening your thighs, you rose up on him and slid down again, head dropping backward in bliss. “Oh, god…”

“Yes, lovely, ride me like a good girl.” 

You never would admit it, never, but those words set you off and suddenly you were bouncing greedily on his shaft and he was thrusting up and the collision inside you stretched and burned and oh, it felt incredible. Nothing could replace this feeling, nothing could be better, especially as Jonathan whispered dirty, sweet things in that dark voice. How beautiful you were. How he missed the way your pretty cunt tasted, how it felt wrapped around him. He tried to make you look at him, but you refused, so Jonathan retaliated by gripping your ass harder and flipping you over, your back against the bed and him standing over you, still buried up inside you. “Is this what you wanted?” Pulling your legs against his chest, he gripped your thighs and pushed harder. You could feel your slick against your thighs and his, the wet slap of your bodies joining sounding loud, shockingly lewd. His eyes, the color of the Mediterranean sea were focused on your breasts, watching them move as he pulled on your nipples, plucking them till they were painfully taut. In retaliation, you ran your nails - hard - down his muscled back, enjoying his pained hiss, feeling his muscles shift and bunch under your fingers as he fucked you harder.

You hated how he knew you. How he knew when your breathing meant you were close. "Oh, J- Jonathan, this is..." There was something you meant to say but you couldn't remember how to form a complete sentence and it didn't really matter, because he placed one hand flat against your pelvis and then actually growled. _He growled_.

"I can feel my cock move inside you, little one. Just here." He pressed down and you screamed, oh god so past embarrassment because the entire lower half of your body was on fire. Your skin burned and you were coming again so hard that your muscles clamped down and froze him in place, which made Jonathan groan and then he was coming, spurting heat inside you, flooding you like maybe he hadn't come inside anyone for a long time, either. So much that it leaked a bit from the tight seal his cock had created. Falling over you, Jonathan rested his forehead on the disordered bed, breathing heavily while he rested his forearms on either side of your head, trying to keep from crushing you. "So beautiful," he gasped, "so precious, sweet Sirène."

All the warmth making your muscles soft drained away, and you shifted your hips to pull his cock out of you, both of your groaning a little at how wet and slick you were. Pushing Jonathan away, you rose, leaving the master and walking across the hall to the other bedroom. You shut the door and locked it, even knowing it was a relatively useless gesture and went into the adjoining bathroom to shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And did Jonathan think it would be that easy? Three or four epic orgasms and all is forgiven? Well, it would be for me, but I have zero impulse control and an utter lack of a moral compass. Sarah, however, has both. And the ability to hold a grudge, no matter how good the sex was.


	4. Right Back Where We Started

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jonathan and Sarah realize that after two long years, they are right back where they started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many of you know the legendary Candy_Flaps, who will not write but leaves the most brilliant and witty of commentary on so many of our stories here in the community. Because misreall and I both wrote hate sex in our updates last week, she grandly declared this week to be "Edging Week." So shall it be written. So shall it be done.
> 
> Sorry, Sirène.

When you woke the next morning, the sunlight slanted over your face, making your corneas feel like they’re burning. When you’d emerged from the shower the night before, skin scrubbed red, you’d marched into the massive gourmet kitchen and seized the half-finished bottle of Chenin Blanc you’d left in the living room. The door to the master bedroom was open, but you didn’t see Jonathan as you stalked by with the wine tucked under your arm. Was it unprofessional to be drinking on the job?

You didn’t fucking care. 

Sitting on the bed and staring out the open doors of the balcony, you drank straight from the bottle, hating your own guts. Did you have even the beginnings of a spine? You just had sex with the man who’d dumped you like a dirty shirt two years ago? That man who made you call him daddy? The man who made you follow his seven rules? And the first night- the first goddamn night of your assignment you were underneath him and coming and coming again - maybe a bunch of times, your memory was hazy - like the last two lonely years never happened?

And then, he’d called you Sirène. His name for you. Just like he owned you again. You’d burst into tears, hiding your head under your pillow so he couldn’t hear you. If Jonathan caught you crying over him? He’d know you still loved him. And that was never going to happen.

“Get up, you slut,” you mumbled, “go find some aspirin and pretend last night never happened.” As pep talks go, it was pathetic, but it was enough to force you out of bed.

You were slicing some fruit to go with the frittata you’d made when Jonathan showed up, back from a long run and sweat darkening his t-shirt. You immediately perked up at the thought of running along those beautiful golden beaches until it hit you that pets don’t take runs by themselves.

You could tell he was holding back, carefully skirting you to get a bottle of water from the fridge. “Good morning,” you finally forced out in a clipped, professional tone. “Breakfast should be ready after you have a shower.” Jonathan merely nodded and left the kitchen.

___________

Waiting until he was under the cool spray of the shower before he groaned, Jonathan rubbed his hands over his face. He respected Sarah for recovering so graciously from their disastrous night. Scrubbing his chest, he corrected himself, that disastrous, perfect, erotic night spent inside his- inside Sarah again. Having her again was even better than he’d remembered, and his ability to recall specific, clear instances was very good indeed. He’d stopped by the guest bedroom on his way out the door just as the sun rose, watching her pale, pretty face, mouth slightly open as she slept, those perfect breasts rising and falling gently. Truth be told, when he’d really examined every aspect of the day before, he knew he admired her feistiness, her strength. 

Drying off from the shower, Jonathan refused to look at himself in the mirror. He never could have imagined how much his actions had hurt her. He knew his responsibilities as her daddy. How important his care and support was for a submissive he’s trained into his. Did he somehow think her response would be different because they’d been forced together? He caused so much more damage than he knew by staying away, even if his intention had been the exact opposite.

But what was worse? They were back to the beginning. “Keep her alive.” This time, he had to hope that working as a team would keep them both alive. If she could stop hating him enough to do it.

____________

Waiting for Jonathan to return for breakfast, you mechanically finished slicing the fruit and placed it on a plate, despising yourself a bit for arranging it carefully in a spiral pattern.

Hearing his footsteps, you straightened up, stiffening your spine and your jaw. “Thank you for breakfast, this looks so good.” His beautiful voice was calm, carefully neutral. 

“Sure,” you managed, sitting down and serving yourself. 

You both ate in silence for a few minutes until Jonathan cleared his throat. “Esposito called me this morning.”

Now you looked up, “What did he say?”

Rubbing one big hand across his forehead, he said, “He’s invited us on his yacht, with a group of-” Jonathan snorted inelegantly, “-'select, like-minded people,' he said.”

“More human traffickers, slaver scumbags,” you finished.

“Yes,” he said, eyes ocean blue and direct, never leaving your face. “This means we will be in close quarters with our targets. In our roles.”

Pushing your plate away, you sucked in a deep breath. “I understand. You’re my full-time daddy.” You finally met his gaze. Jonathan was so beautiful, it actually hurt to look at him, sculpted cheekbones, mobile lips and his glorious, pale eyes. Always so quiet, his gaze seeing more than he should. Over the last day, you thought you saw empathy there sometimes, maybe kindness. But now his steady stare was assessing. “You’re wanting to know if I can handle it.”

He didn’t insult you by pretending otherwise. “Yes.”

Picking up the plates, you took them to the sink, glad for an excuse to move, look away from him. “Until 48 hours ago, I was a language data analyst for MI6. I was told I’d never have to see you again.” From the corner of your eye, you could see him flinch slightly. Good. “So, being back in this again? I’m not an operative.” One of the plates clattered and you steadied it. “I’m terrified that I’m going to get us both killed. I hate your guts, but…” you laughed a little bitterly, “but I don’t want to be the reason you’re…” All the memories, the things Mr. Roper had threatened you with - you felt like you were strangling on them.

He was standing behind you by then, close enough to feel his heat against your back but carefully not touching you.

“Turn around, Sarah. Please.” Forcing yourself to do so, you tried looking at his left eyebrow. His eyes were too much, they stripped you bare and you couldn’t take that right now, so you stared at his left ear. “You are responsible for doing nothing but trying to do the right thing. I have every faith in your ability. You behaved more professionally under pressure - as a captive - than many operatives I’ve known. I have complete faith in you to finish this mission and have the satisfaction of bringing these bastards down.”

“Really?” you blurted.

Jonathan smiled now, his kind smile that he saved for you. “Yes. I do.”

_____________

“Are you ready?” he leaned against the door to the bedroom, enjoying the sight of Sir- Sarah’s graceful hands folding clothes back into her bag. 

“Just about,” she said, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, “how many nights should I pack for? One?” 

Jonathan smiled at her hopeful expression. “I fear longer. Plan on five or six nights.” Sarah’s widened. 

“Five days? Really? You’ve contacted Angela?”

Lifting her suitcase, Jonathan shook his head. “We work through intermediaries now. I’ll need you’ll to memorize the numbers in case…”

“We should both know them,” she interrupted him, hand on his arm. Jonathan swayed just slightly toward her. To have her touch him willingly again. That warm little hand…

“Yes,” he said hoarsely, “we must.” He watched her pause for a moment before they walked out the door. “What?”

Sarah gave a sad little chuckle. "It’s so stupid, but we have four pools here and I haven't stepped foot in one of them.” He wondered if she was remembering their pool tryst in the Seychelles.

Squeezing her elbow gently, he promised, “We’ll be back.”

He could see Sarah square her jaw and lower her chin a little as they pulled into the lush marina. And as expected, Esposito’s yacht was vulgarly large and luxurious, a helicopter perched on the highest section.

“Pine! Good to see you! Come aboard, come aboard!” Esposito, dressed in whites and smoking a huge cigar, waved his hand expansively, almost putting a crew member’s eye out. 

“Piero, a pleasure,” murmured Jonathan as they walked up to the deck, Sirène’s left hand in his right, one step behind and a bit behind his broad shoulder. He knew without looking that her head would be lowered demurely, but her gaze wouldn’t miss a thing. “Carlotta,” he leaned in to very lightly kiss her cheek, lips sliding over her heavy makeup, “you’re looking lovely, thank you for the invitation.”

Slipping her hand over her husband’s arm, the woman smiled, a lurid spread of her mouth that never reached her hard, kohl-lined eyes. “We’re looking forward to getting to know you better, Jonathan.” He was amused by her clear signal as Carlotta brushed her hard breasts across his forearm. The slight tightening of Sirène’s hand in his told him she was quite clear on the woman’s intent as well.

“And who else is joining us?” Jonathan queried, affable tone still in place. 

Esposito chuckled in his irritating, pompous way. “Old friends and new, Pine. Why don’t you relax in your stateroom and we’ll all meet up for dinner? The captain tells me he’s ready to be underway.”

_____________

Watching Jonathan walk the room with his cellphone lifted, you politely “yes’d and no’d” as he kept up a casual conversation as he scanned for listening devices. Your heart sank as you watched the device turn red at least three times - including the bathroom and sleeping area. He looked at you with a tinge of regret, but you shrugged your shoulders. You both had a part to play. And even though you despised yourself, you knew it wouldn’t be a hardship, even though it would play havoc with your emotions.

“Little one.” You tried not to shiver. “Why don’t you unpack for us and put on those pretty lace undies Daddy selected for you? I shall decide on what you wear to dinner after … you model them for me.”

“Yes Daddy,” you whispered, “of course.”

While Jonathan played his part and did whatever rich, heartless assholes did in their free time, you hung up the expensive wardrobe that a nice little girl/pet/slave would wear. With a sigh, you pulled out the drawer where you'd tossed your lingerie and held up the delicate, white lace bra and panty set he'd referred to. You had no doubt that he intended to find a way to subtly flash a lacy strap that evening to lend credence to their apparently blissful unawareness that their stateroom was bugged. But did you have to put it on now? Just like you'd been told? Like a good girl would? You shifted from foot to foot while you thought about it. The movement in the huge mirror in the dressing room made you look up as you continued fidgeting. When was the last time you looked at yourself - really looked? Did Sarah look different from Sirène? If you saw Sarah, would she make others suspicious? Could these monsters feel the dissonance, the way you could? Your nose touched the cool glass and you startled back. If you became Sirène again, would you forget who Sarah was? You almost couldn't remember your real name anymore, that girl was long gone. "Sirène," you mouthed at your reflection, barely breathing the word. "My name is Sirène." 

When Jonathan finally called out, "And where is my sweet girl?" You walked out in only the lace undies, enjoying his quickly concealed look of surprise.

"Right here, Daddy."

It was harder than you expected, walking toward a fully-dressed Jonathan clad only in white scraps of fabric, but you managed to make it look graceful. When he held out those long arms in greeting, you gratefully sank into them. Not sure if he would even understand, you traced _'video?'_ on his forearm with the tip of your finger. He stilled for a moment, then held you tighter, putting his lips to your earlobe and sucking on it before whispering, "No."

"You're so beautiful, little one," he crooned, running his big, calloused hands up and down your bare back. "Daddy is so pleased with you."

Then Jonathan’s mouth was hovering over yours, and you lifted your head. After a moment, you opened your eyes, his keen ones were watching your face. He stretched out your arm and carefully traced the letters along the thin skin of your wrist. ‘R U sure?’

It felt like a hand had released it’s grip from your throat and you took a deep breath, nodding. It was your choice. Then you were on your back, expensive cotton sheets smooth against your back and Jonathan’s mouth all over yours, parting your lips with his tongue and his warm, rough palms smoothing over your stomach and thighs.

“I find, lovely, despite my desire to see you in your pretty new lingerie, my only wish now is to remove them from you.” Tugging down the lacy cups of your bra, his hands moved your breasts together so that his mouth could descend on one, and then the other. Suckling and biting your nipples lightly, he chuckled low when you jumped a bit, your hands tightening on his shoulders. “So sensitive…” he mused, lashing the other breast with his tongue and blowing on it lightly, snickering as you sucked in a desperate gulp of air. “Lift your hips, baby. Daddy requires those little knickers.” You did as he asked, flushing painfully when you felt the cool of your slick slide down your thigh along with the undies. “Ready so soon? Such a very good girl.” Long, elegant fingers slid along the swelling lips of your center and you gulped audibly.

“Um…” you had something you were going to say, what was… “Uh, Daddy? It seems like you’re overdressed, may I help you take some clothes off?” You were suddenly aware that he was caging you with his long body, his belt buckle digging into your stomach and the fine wool of his trousers scratchy against your spread thighs.

Jonathan looked up at you with his most vivid, searing gaze and you groaned internally. You remembered this look. "No, I am quite comfortable. Now spread your legs wide for Daddy." Putting your hands over your face, you were jerked abruptly downward, your ass slightly off the mattress and your legs thrown over his shoulders. Then his mouth fastened on you and you let out a startled shriek. 

He was ravenous, your daddy, sucking your wet center into his mouth in a harsh, open-mouthed kiss.

You could feel the vibrations of his laughter against you as you unconsciously tightened your thighs around his head, but when you tried to loosen them, his hand came up to stop you. Two fingers slid easily into you, stroking along your silky insides and playing with you, pushing here, stroking there and rediscovering all the secret parts inside that made you jump, or moan, or clench down on his fingers. How did this man know the inside of you better than you did? You silently fumed, hands sliding into his dark curls, stroking and scratching until he lifted his head, looking at you sternly.

“Are you attempting to distract your daddy?”

Your hands flew from his hair and you held them away awkwardly. “Uh, no, I’m sorry Daddy?”

That flash of mischief over his beautiful face made you cringe. “Put your hands over your head and hold on to the headboard, darling. Do not let go or you will not come at all today.”

Then his mouth was on your clitoris, gently suckling on it and rolling it with his tongue. “Oh, god…” You were never going to live through this.

____________

Jonathan kept his eyes open, avidly watching his sweet girl’s response. He’d pushed away the thoughts of why they were here for the immediate pleasure of being here with her. Her white-knuckled grip on the headboard made him grin as he pushed his stubbled chin against her opening, feeling the wet flesh press against his face before the stimulation was too much and Sirène yelped trying to wiggle away from him. Sliding his arms under her legs, he yanked her back down again, putting a heavy forearm over her hips to hold her down. “Be still, little girl,” he’d slipped so effortlessly back into being Sirène’s daddy, wanting it so much more than he’d ever been able to admit. She was beautiful, his girl. Her lips open and gasping, that lovely flush he so enjoyed rising from her chest, up her neck and coloring her cheeks a vivid pink.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small vibrator and slipped it on his index finger and turned it on the lowest setting. She stiffened at the sound. 

“Wha-”

“Shhh,” Jonathan admonished, already so hard that he was certain his zipper was rubbing the skin off his cock, “be still.”

“Y- AH! Y- yes Daddy!” Sirène’s voice was pitched painfully high, but she was clearly trying to hold still for him as he ran his gently vibrating fingertip from her clit to circle her opening and back again. They’d only used toys once before, despite - or perhaps because of - the grotesquely huge box of BDSM gear Corky had left in his guest house as part of his “gift” when Roper had presented him with Sirène. But having this moment to play with her, enjoy her reactions- it was unspeakably erotic. The tendons in her thighs were trembling, trying to close against the pressure from his shoulders to widen them and Jonathan felt an exhilaration he’d not allowed himself for … not since they’d been together last, making love in that palatial bedroom as the Nile River flowed past their open balcony door. After toying very gently with her clit, he slid the vibe back down to her channel and slid smoothly in, enjoying her anguished, “Oh- oh, _God,_ Daddy!” 

“I am only the latter,” he soothed devilishly, watching her lovely face carefully for signs she was ready to come. His Sirène has such lovely tells, her breasts would heave as she began to pant, fighting for breath. The lean muscles in her thighs would tighten, but prettiest of all were her eyes, opening wide and the color of molten chocolate, glistening with gold speckles. And as he watched these things begin to happen, Jonathan stroked against all those tender spots inside her until she was ready to come, his name on her lips like a prayer, and…

He pulled his finger from her and turned off the vibe, sitting up and gently putting her legs together.

Sirène sat up so fast she nearly nailed his nose with her forehead. “What- I-”

Jonathan kissed her sweaty, flushed cheek. “Go get cleaned up, sweetheart. It’s almost time for dinner with our new friends.” He stood, not bothering to hide his erection as he walked into the sitting area and leaving her on the bed, blonde curls flying everywhere and an utterly flabbergasted expression on her sweet face.

  
  



	5. "Pets Don't Eat at the Table"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you and Jonathan endure another "Pet Evening" with the Yacht Party from Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you a thousand times to misreall, who helped me figure out how I was totally fucking up this chapter. Jonathan and Sarah are struggling. Which is as it should be.

You had never hated Jonathan more.

Sure, when he’d deserted you and stomped on your childlike belief that of course, he would come - he promised. You know, that night when he murdered Freddie and you bonded and all that shit? You’d hated him. 

When Jonathan took it upon himself to explain that he’d crushed your heart and discarded you like french fry carton but it’s okay because it was “for your own good?” You _really_ hated him.

But tonight? When you’d let go and went full daddy, he brought you to the brink of what you could tell would be a really spectacular orgasm and … left. Hate was incandescent. You were rendered speechless in your fury. And also, really, really turned on.

You were fucked, all right.

But as you obediently dressed in a long pink dress with cutouts that displayed most of your waist and back, you were gritting your teeth about the discomfort of wet undies. No one told you that stopping cold didn’t mean your body did. Your treacherous and hopeful center was still moistening steadily, even after you’d rinsed off in cold water and changed into a second set of underwear.

Just the feeling his big, rough hand sinking to the bare skin of your back to guide you to the dining room made you want to wrap around him like a particularly stubborn strain of ivy. How could he do this to you? Did he want you to murder him? But you slipped back into his good girl with barely a ripple, keeping your head down as he guided you to the table.

But of course, it can always get worse.

“Jonathaaaan,” mewled Carlotta, “pets don’t eat at the dinner table.” It was then you noticed that out of the ten people seated at the gleaming table, eight of them had girls - and one well-built young man - kneeling on cushions on the floor. 

Taking it all in before lowering your gaze again, you had only one thought. _I swear to God, I'm going to shoot at least two of these sons of bitches before this is over._

Your daddy laughed easily, waving one languid hand. "Oh, my little one will not require a chair or cushion. She sits on my lap like the well-trained poodle that she is."

Giovanni Bianchi was seated next to you - well, Jonathan - and he leaned back, chuckling. "Ah, I do recall being told you'd raised your girl by hand."

The woman across the table sniffed. "What, like a parrot?" An American accent and garish blue hair.

The entire group burst into the hearty, condescending laughter that only obscenely wealthy and complete assholes could manage.

Jonathan had only offered a polite and indulgent chuckle, but he ran the back of his hand up your cheek as he purred, “There are many ways to tame a pet, certainly. I prefer a strong hand, but a caring one. Nurturing a little girl makes them bloom. So much lovelier, so happy to be obedient, so eager to fulfill your commands.” To your extreme discomfort, he picked up a tiny hor d'oeuvre between his thumb and forefinger, lifting it to your lips. “Open wide, little one,” he crooned. With a little, girlish giggle that you knew would haunt you forever, you opened your mouth and let him pop the food on your tongue. 

It was excruciating. You shifted miserably in your wet undies as the conversation swirled and eddied around you, fetid waves of talk regarding expensive island homes, extravagant vacations and the “Idiots who could not keep those girls in line! Always running away, and-” It was Carlotta, angrily speaking in Italian to an amused silver-haired man who was currently slouching in his chair and resting an expensively-shod foot on the bare skin of his kneeling slave’s back.

“They are all the same,” he drawled, nibbling on a bit of swordfish. “The madames are much sterner in the small brothels. But shipping and moving the girls is so inconvenient…” You kept your eyes lowered, opening your mouth when Jonathan lifted a morsel to you. Just once his smirk made you bite his fingers quite a bit harder than he expected, but his expression never changed. He could tell you were listening to the conversation across the table and he lowered his voice as he spoke to the man next to him, helping you to eavesdrop more closely. The monstrous Carlotta and the Creep had moved on to discussing fertile acquisition areas. It sounded very corporate until you realized they were discussing the best places to steal women. You carefully repeated all the names and locations they were discussing until you were certain they were carved into your cerebellum, you’d heard a couple of the names during your debriefing back in London. 

Sitting on Jonathan’s muscular thighs was pleasant when it had involved sex, or long ago, snuggling but now it was uncomfortable trying to keep the good posture you noticed the other “pets” were using. But you were trying to follow their behavior as closely as you could to avoid drawing attention to yourself. After dessert, you rose with relief when he gently patted your ass. Good, you thought, now you could head back to the cabin and exchange notes on the information you’d picked up. 

But no.

“Pine, are you putting your girl into the mix tonight?” It was the languid tone of Giovanni, and his leering gaze was on you. “I have wanted to see her in action.” You were confused for a moment until you saw two of the women head for the center of a comfortable seating area on the deck, kneeling and facing each other.

Oh, god. Seriously? On the bright side, that killed your simmering lady boner from being brought to the edge of, you know, something amazing earlier by Daddy Asshole.

"She's not a pet!" Jonathan snarled.

It had been some time since you'd heard that tone, the one that could cause frostbite with a single sentence. Your spine stiffened. _Ohgodohgodohgod, Jonathan,_ you moaned internally, _not the time! I appreciate it but not the time!_

Thank god, he recovered quickly and chuckled easily- how _did_ he do that? you marveled - “She's my little girl. No performing tonight,” he said, “She’s going to need all of her energy for me.” That, unfortunately, did not get you out of the sordid, artificial passion of the two girls, and then the deeply uncomfortable addition of your host, who smirked at you as one headed south to his belt buckle. 

You began reciting syllables in Urdu. _Lafz Ya Lafz Ka Koi Juz Jo Aik Aawaz Say Ada Ho…_ you thought, _Lafz Ya Lafz Ka Koi Juz Jo Aik Aawaz Say Ada Ho…_

_____________

His sweet girl was numb. Jonathan gently led her along the corridor to their cabin, her steps slow and a blank expression on her pretty face. Opening the door and ushering her inside, he put one long finger to his lips. Pulling out his phone, he said, “I’m going to open the window, darling, it’s a bit warm in here.” Instead, he clicked a button on the phone and put it near one of the listening devices, this one placed cleverly in a bit of wall molding. Sirène watched him silently as he came back to her. “If we keep our voices low,” Jonathan whispered, lips nearly brushing her ear, “we can speak freely.” He pulled back, looking her over with a furrowed brow. “Are you all right? I know that was ugly.”

He watched her jaw tense with a certain pride. She was tough, his girl. Jonathan had given up on trying to see Sirène as anything else. _Until the mission is over,_ the voice that sounded remarkably like his ex-wife reminded him, _then she’s Sarah again and she will want nothing to do with you._

“I’m okay,” she answered. “It’s just so…” Her pretty face twisted in disgust. “How can you stand it? Day after day of this creepy shit?”

Running a hand through his hair, Jonathan tried to think of how to answer her. Because really, he didn’t know. With Roper, it was vengeance, payment for Sophie’s short and painful life. As for the missions since? He’d been adrift afterward and missing Sirène terribly. When Angela had offered him the position, he’d thrown himself into it because it was … his duty? The only thing he could do? He could never go back to hiding in hotel management, pretending to be affable to the spoiled and wealthy and happy to serve. “It’s … the only thing I know how to do, now,” he answered honestly. Taking her hand, he pulled her to the sofa, seating her before slipping off her heels and rubbing the arch of one foot. “I envision the expression they’ll wear as they’re arrested.”

“The one Mr. Roper wore,” she said with satisfaction.

Jonathan laughed. “Quite.”

“Is he really gone?” Sirène said it in the same hushed tone one would use when speaking of the devil, as if whispering wouldn’t draw his attention. 

“He is,” he assured her. “Dead and gone.”

A small smile flickered over her pink mouth. “Good.”

“And that’s what you remember,” Jonathan said, picking up her other foot. “What did you do tonight? I watched you … go away.”

“I was practicing syllables in Urdu,” she admitted, and he laughed, a bit harder than it warranted, but the feeling over her confiding in him again - the feeling of being a team sent a surge of tenderness through him. 

Picking up her hand and kissing it, Jonathan enjoyed the play of light from the setting sun over her hair, lighting her eyes to a light chestnut shade. “If you will allow it,” he said gravely, “I would like to redeem myself for this afternoon.” Her instant, mutinous scowl almost made him smile, but he forced it down. “I did not want those scum to hear you. They are not allowed to hear how beautiful you are when you come.”

Now her eyes opened wide. “That’s why you were such a- that’s why you stopped?” 

_____________

You watched his expression change, dark and oh, so daddy. “That sound,” he murmured in that knowing tone of his, his resonant voice, “is for me alone. But were we fully exploring our dynamic, I would bring you to the edge many, many times and teach you that good girls have to earn their orgasms.”

 _Asshole!_ was what you thought, but what came out was, “Oh. Well…”

“May I kiss you?” Jonathan asked. 

With an internal groan, you managed, “Uh, huh.” And then his mouth was on yours and the time for coherent thought was over.

His roughened fingertips were sliding up your thigh as the dress fell away from you, and his other hand brought yours to his shirt. “Help me, lovely.” Unbuttoning and unzipping his expensive clothing was definitely the most satisfying thing that happened to you all day. The memory of your touch was stronger than you could have imagined, running your fingers knowledgeably over the ridges on his chest, the smooth skin over muscle on his shoulders. Your hand found a ragged-feeling scar on his back and you stopped, looking up at him. With a sigh, Jonathan pulled your hand away and kissed your fingers. “An injury from my last mission. It’s all right, it wasn’t deep.” The thickness of the scar told you otherwise, but you arched up instead to kiss him again.

This was different. You knew what you were doing, you weren’t inflamed by fury and hurt, or lured by his - let’s be honest - superlative seduction skills. He was kind, and careful, his hands running over you and encouraging the same from you. Jonathan was whispering things to you, how beautiful you were, how precious, and lovely. How strong. 

“This sweet part of you,” he soothed, “still very pink and uncomfortable.” One long finger stroked up and down your swollen lips as his mouth fastened over one extremely hard nipple. You wondered if it was as painful for men, to have a part of you be this blood-swollen, this erect. Spitefully, you hoped so. His gentle movements below were definitely reminding your lower half of everything it had been cheated out of earlier, and your hips began moving against his hand. "Perhaps I can make it up to you?"

There was a good 35% of you that wanted to rub his generous, very swollen dick until he was inches from coming, and then get up to go brush your teeth and make a few mental notes about everything you'd heard tonight. The other 65% was hysterically clamoring for Jonathan inside you and it was claiming the majority in this scenario in a big way.

And then he had to say it.

“My lovely, perfect Sirène…”

Your hands tightened into claws, and you pulled away, your dress down around your hips. “What I sound like when I … when I come? _I_ own that. And you haven’t earned it.” Goddamn, it was physically painful to climb - a bit clumsily - off of his lap and walk away, but you did it. And then you sat in the shower and cried angrily until you heard Jonathan go to bed.

Rubbing on lotion and drying your hair, you glared at yourself in the unfeasibly large bathroom mirror. It made you so fucking angry when he called you that. Sirène. Your therapist - Morag - once called it your “slave name.” You thought maybe that was a little dramatic but it showed in screamingly neon letters that Jonathan only saw what _he_ had created in you. You knew you _were_ different. You were changed and nothing could change you back. But you were more. You’d survived without him for two years.

But he’d cracked tonight. Unfortunately, in front of that psycho posse of human traffickers, but he did. Slowly brushing your teeth, you thought about it. What would Sarah do right now?

The bedroom was lighter than you expected, the moon glimmering over the waves outside and highlighting Jonathan’s nude body. His forearm was covering his eyes and the sheet riding scandalously low over his hips. His cock was still hard, after all this time. This detail gave you enormous satisfaction. His phone was dark now, and plugged into the socket by his nightstand. No more white noise, no cover. Jonathan stiffened as you deliberately crawled over him instead of walking around to the other side of the bed. Straddling him, you barely breathed into his ear, knowing the beautiful bastard had the hearing of a cheetah.

“I’ll fuck you only if you are dead silent,” you hissed, “not a sound.” He was motionless for a moment, then his hands rose to your hips and he nodded. Your shower had done nothing to soothe your inflamed center, and without any ceremony, you took that thick, heavy cock of his and carefully slid down it, sucking in your breath so sharply that you almost choked on it. Jonathan’s chest heaved, rising and falling until he regained control and kissed you between your breasts, waiting for you to make a move.

You were acutely aware of everything - the faint rustle of the sheets, the rasp of the callouses of his fingers on your nipples, the slight hiss of air between his gritted teeth. You moved one of his hands to where you felt the tip of him inside you and pressed his palm against you there. You could tell by the way his muscles seized up, turning him into concrete that he felt it. 

Moving faster, you closed your eyes and tried to concentrate. Jonathan, your big, bad daddy, was letting you take the lead. Letting you take what you wanted from him. His stillness made you feel a little lonely, but this is what you wanted, right? And god, he felt good. You could feel the heat and weight of him inside you and for a second, you lazily rotated your hips, just enjoying the pain and stretch and heat of him inside you. Pushing your hips forward, you relished his quickly stifled groan and began to ride Jonathan. 

You hated him. You missed him. You wanted him but right now, he was going to help you come and he was not getting the same privilege unless he kept his beautiful mouth shut. And he did, those vivid ocean eyes watching you carefully, tracing the heat of the flush over your breasts, the other pushing against the small of your back and encouraging you to rub your clit against those springy curls at the base of his cock. 

“Mmmm-” You froze, to your horror, that noise came from you. Shit. But then Jonathan put a hand over your mouth, gently. Pressing the heel of it against your teeth and wincing just slightly as you bit into his warm skin, bouncing faster, circling your hips and grinding and enjoying yourself while trying to keep your teeth dug into the palm of his hand as you came.

When you did come, you chomped down so hard you could taste the coppery flavor of him on your tongue, but you couldn’t seem to unclench long enough to release his hand. But Jonathan kept it there as his hips began viciously thrusting upwards and seeking his own finish. On impulse, you laid a hand over his throat and pressed down the way he used to with you, enjoying the sweat beading his brow until his eyes rolled up and his lashes concealed them as he came. He throbbed inside you, flooding you with heat and wet and it made your eyes water with the effort of keeping your fucking mouth shut. But you managed.

You were half-conscious when you realized Jonathan had left the bed and returned with a warm cloth to cleanse you. Then he rolled you onto your side and snuggled up behind you, spooning you comfortably with your ass settled nicely into his pelvis. You eyed the poor, mangled palm of his hand before sighing deeply and joining him in sleep.

  
  



	6. "Green, Daddy."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a spanking, much smut, and a very unfortunate accident.
> 
> 18+ please heed the tags!

"Wouldn't this be easier if we stole some plastique and just blew up the yacht? Seriously, ten fried human traffickers, extra crispy!"

Sure, it was macabre, but the vision gave you the first real smile of the trip thus far. This day was the worst yet and any desire to follow the rules and properly arrest and charge these people were so down on your priorities list. So. Far. Down.

“Why don’t you go take a shower?” Jonathan was smiling down at you, so kindly. You’d been rubbing your arms compulsively since leaving the Brunch from Hell and it’s accompanying “entertainment.” “You’ll feel better.” His large hand moved over yours, gently stilling the motion. 

You cringed a little, “Yeah, I’m going all Lady Macbeth here, aren’t I?”

Those eyes - crystalline blue in the sunshine from your port window, crinkled a bit as he smiled, “Out, damned spot! Out, I say!—One, two. Why, then, ’tis time to do ’t. Hell is murky!—” He was laughing a little, and you could feel your treacherous body sway toward him.

______________

You weren’t sure how this day was going to go when you woke up that morning, naked with your fellow agent sprawled out over you, elegant long limbs draping yours. For the first time you could remember, you woke up first, and you simply stared at him. So beautiful, that Jonathan. The thick fan of lashes was dark against his cheekbones, the unshaven stubble glinting ginger on his chin. You knew you should be pulling away, getting dressed. All this snuggling and cuddling bullshit was going to crumble your barriers faster than you could erect them again.

“Good morning.”

You yelped. You actually yelped like a puppy or something as Jonathan’s voice, deep and gravelly scared you half to death. His eyes were open and watching you. “How you do that?” You groaned at his raised eyebrow, “You wake up like you were never asleep, all super alert on your feet in a heartbeat.”

Chuckling, Jonathan swung his long legs to the floor and rose, just as elegantly as you’d stated and completely unashamed of strolling naked to the bank of windows. “We are set to arrive in port today. We’re visiting…” here, even his usual urbane expression twisted into distaste, “...a market.” Running his hand through his hair, Jonathan sighed. “I would prefer to leave you here. But I cannot guarantee your safety.”

Awkwardly trying to reach for your discarded dress on the floor so you wouldn’t have to make your trip to the bathroom nude, you said, “I appreciate that. But I _am_ trained. No one’s going to expect your pet to crush their windpipe.”

He nodded, “True, true. But as much as I’d love to have you trying to pull information from here, if they do go after you, they suspect us both and we’ll be stronger together.”

His words warmed you in a way you hadn’t expected. Jonathan said it casually, as if it was to be expected that you were at your best as a team. Like it had been in Egypt. 

________________

  
  


That nice little moment was the only one you’d have for the day, so you found yourself thinking back on it repeatedly as you numbly followed Jonathan through what was officially the Brunch from Hell, where the others conversed easily as they dined on scallops and wine and examined the human cargo dragged before them. The suffering of these women and children … you couldn’t eat, you sat frozen on Jonathan’s lap while the hellish parade went through the room. You forced yourself to memorize names and faces, bits and pieces of information dropped during the conversation.

“Oh, Pine. I do believe your little girl is afraid she’s about to be replaced!” Giovanni tittered. “Don’t worry, precious, if Daddy tires of you I am very happy to take over as your new Master.” You could only put your face into the spot where Jonathan’s neck and shoulder met. 

So really, the whole “extra crispy” comment was not only _not_ in bad taste, it seemed quite reasonable. 

Sitting in the surprisingly roomy tub, your knees were drawn up and arms wrapped around them, you tried to run through all the names and details from the horrible day. But they’d cycle through your mind like butterflies, impossible to catch, darting back and forth until you were ready to cry from frustration. When you looked up, Jonathan was standing there, looking kind, and concerned. “What can I do for you?” He was kneeling, taking one of your hands in his, and very specifically not looking below your neck.

“I’m… I don’t think I can do this,” the words burst from you without thinking, to your eternal shame. “I want to kill them. All of them. I’m scared that I’m going to crack and just … stab someone. I know I should be professional and tough and I want to be - I do - but I want them to die." You buried your head in your knees again.

Very gently, you felt his broad palm settle on your back. “Being a professional does not keep you from wanting to wipe them off the face of the earth. In the most painful possible way.” You missed the warmth when he removed his hand and stood, returning with your robe. “Why don’t you come out and eat something? It will help.”

You could not have predicted what flew out of your mouth next. “Do you really want to help me?”

Jonathan turned again. Oh, shit. He had his eyes narrowed in that way that always made you certain he could read your mind. His head tilted. “And how could I help you, darling?”

______________

In another time, when they’d had time to find their dynamic, discover their roles together outside of these artificial constraints, Jonathan could not imagine a request that would have pleased him more. 

But, here. When Sirène was still so terribly angry - ( _Justified,_ that nasty little voice squatting in his head reminded him) - this was risky. But she looked up at him with those huge eyes of hers… Groaning, he shook his head. A terrible idea.

Walking over to sit next to her on the built-in window seat, Jonathan watched her. “Look at me, please.” When she did, Sirène was biting her lip again. Reaching out a thumb to loosen it from between her teeth, he smiled down at her. “Do you understand what you want from this?” Another nod. “I need to hear it, darling.”

Clearing her throat, she answered, “Yeah. Um, yes, I do. Know, I mean.”

“The last time I spanked you was as punishment,” Jonathan reminded her. “It did not end well.”

“I remember,” she agreed tightly.

“So why this?” He took one of her hands, twisting and untwisting the belt of her robe.

Sighing, “I started looking up … stuff that first year. Reading about Daddy doms.”

Jonathan felt his disobedient cock stiffen. “And what-” his voice was too rough, too deep, “and what did you learn about them?”

“Your rules. It made sense. They were horrible but they made sense in that time and place. About the dynamic and why it’s … why I felt secure. Why it felt-” Sirène stopped, pressing her lips together. He could see the hurt of the last two years in the movement, and he simply nodded. 

“Very well. What do you want to happen here, darling?” She shifted uncomfortably and he smothered a smile. He remembered this, when his girl would squirm, uncomfortable about speaking. About asking for what she wanted. That voice was back. _As if you gave her the opportunity to make a choice._

More shifting. “I don’t … I just don’t want to feel like this anymore! I’m so angry and I want to hurt them and I can’t - if I’m going to do my job I have to control this and I don’t know how and it just makes me so much angrier!"

Jonathan began slowly rolling up the cuffs of his shirt sleeves, knowing Sirène was watching carefully. "What is your safe word?"

That got her. “Um. Kangaroo?” she mumbled, and for a moment he thought he might burst into laughter.

“Very well.” Her gaze was still fixed on the corded muscles in his forearms as he finished rolling up his sleeves. Jonathan patted his lap. “Come here, Si- ... sweetheart.”

He watched as she slowly put her breasts against one thigh, and nestled the cradle of her pelvis over his other. Her shoulder blades moved under her thin skin as his girl took a deep breath. She was wearing a silk camisole and matching undies, and he carefully put his hand on the bare skin between the two. “How do you feel?”

Her head turned resting her cheek on his thigh. “Feel?”

Hand moving back and forth soothingly, Jonathan clarified. “Do you remember the colors, as on a traffic light?”

“Oh,” Sirène nodded absently. “Yes. Green.”

“This should not feel like a punishment. You know the difference,” he said gravely, “you must use your safe word if it begins to feel that way, all right?”

Putting her forehead on the long line of his thigh again, He heard her mumble absently, “All right, daddy.”

The soothing movement of his hand on her back paused. Should he stop? But one of her arms tightened around his leg and Jonathan drew in a breath, putting the flat of his hand on her bottom. “Close your eyes.” She was stiff, every muscle locked and body quivering, even though he could tell she was trying to relax. “I would like to remove your knickers,” his voice was music, calm and even. “It will hurt your skin more if you keep them on. May I?”

She nodded against his thigh before remembering to answer. “Yes.”

Jonathan swallowed, the tendons in his neck standing out. God, this was almost more than he could take. She was perfection, put trustingly across his lap, both arms wrapped around his thigh. Slipping his fingers under the fabric, he pulled them down, leaving them puddled at her knees when Sirène nervously pressed them together. Running the palm of his hand slowly back up her thighs, he rested it against her ass. He remembered the last time he’d spanked her quite vividly. That she had been reckless. That he’d been furious and terrified in equal measures for her safety. But this time could be done with lo-

With care. 

“I’m going to begin,” Jonathan’s beautiful voice was his best attribute as Daddy, deep and caring, resonant with just a touch of a growl. His hand came down against both soft cheeks and Sirène jumped, but she didn’t make a sound. “How do you feel, lovely?”

“Green.”

The next strike was a little harder, the one after even more. But from then on, Jonathan varied the intensity and pacing of the spanking, stopping after every tenth to ask his girl if she was all right. He watched her muscles soften, the grip she had on him loosened, even with the intensity of the spanking. “Twenty. How do you feel?”

A slight sniffle. “Green, daddy.”

The heat shot straight to his cock and he gritted his teeth against it. This was not what Sirène needed now. But god, the sight of her sweet bottom, bright pink and edging toward red… He ran his other hand, cool and pleasant against her skin. “Good girl. Such a very good girl. I’m going to continue now.” He’d just counted to forty and was near to insisting that they stop when he watched her shoulders start shaking. Pulling her up quickly, Jonathan rested her on her hip to avoid her stinging ass and wrapped his arms around her. “Oh, my sweet girl ... you’ve been so strong. I am so proud of your courage and your sense of what is right.” She was crying softly, face buried in his wet shirt and he kept rocking her, humming softly, his hand stroking her head and whispering words too soft to hear into the fragrant softness of her hair.

___________________  
  


“And where are Pine and his little pet tonight?” It was Giovanni speaking an irritating drawl as he held his glass out to be refilled by the trembling girl next to him. 

Carlotta answered him, her tone spiteful. “Apparently picking up some merchandise at the market today was quite the aphrodisiac. They’ve been holed up in his stateroom all night.”

“Now darling, don’t pout,” Esposito chuckled unkindly. “Just because you want to fuck Pine does not mean you can pout like a child.” He clinked glasses with Giovanni. “If I owned his little girl, I would miss dinner to fuck her, too.”

The fourth member of their party was less amused. Debare’s expression was forbidding. “He did purchase inventory, correct?”

“Si,” Esposito nodded, “some of the younger girls. For his resort in Central America.”

Debare lit up a cigar that quickly filled the salon with noxious smoke. “And the development of the resort has been verified?”

“With drone flyovers to track construction and a copy of the building plans,” Carlotta put her feet on her pet’s back, kneeling before her. “It’s really rather charming, with theme rooms for the youngest girls.”

___________

Waking up was a struggle. You’d been so nice and warm, feeling surrounded and protected. Jonathan had wrapped you in a nice, fleecy blanket it seemed, and his solid warmth was curled around you, arms wrapped loosely around your waist. The huge window of the stateroom was dark, so you’d slept for a long time. When was the last time you’d had sleep uninterrupted by nightmares?

"You're awake. How do you feel?" His voice made you shiver, lips moving against the sensitive skin of your ear.

You didn’t want to move, that’s how you felt. Your ass was still sore and the skin felt hot, but you were tucked so nicely into Jonathan. So, you shifted your hips gingerly and mumbled, “M’good.”

“Ah-ah,” he chided and one big hand went under your chin, turning you to look at him over your shoulder. “Tell me again, lovely.”

Clumsily clearing your throat, you managed, “I feel much better, thank you. I don’t feel so stabby any more.”

A wide grin spread over his unreasonably gorgeous face. “Stabby?” Something about the way it sounded in his posh British accent was hilarious, and you started giggling. “Ah, you find this amusing, do you, little girl?” Jonathan pounced on you and you let out a little shriek as he started tickling you savagely.

“Aaahahahaha! Please stop! I swear- ahahahaha! I swear I’ll wet the bed, daddy! Stop!” He did, still hovering over you, laughter cycling down but still dancing through his eyes, blue as the Mediterranean. You still had one hand on his shoulder, trying to fend him off and the other slid into his hair, feeling the softness of the curls that wanted to break through his cropped style.   
  


His gaze darted to your lips and back to your eyes. “They’re milk chocolate,” he mused.

“What?”

Jonathan’s smile was slightly bashful as he explained. “Your eyes, they’re a light color, like milk chocolate when you’re happy.”

Your heart gave an uncomfortable thump. “Really?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “And now I would like to kiss you.” He gave you plenty to time to refuse him, but when you didn’t his mouth was on yours and oh, god it was perfect. It made you realize how very little kissing the two of you had done and really, that was a giant shame because Jonathan Pine, super-spy could _kiss._ Like James Bond-level kiss and if you’d been an enemy agent you would have given up all the nuclear codes for a kiss like this. His lips brushed lightly back and forth over yours, stroking the tip of his tongue into your mouth, twining lightly with yours. His hand cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone. This was a cinematic-level kiss, oh, my god he was good. Easing you onto your back, Jonathan angled you so your weight wouldn’t be on your sore, spanked bottom, his dark head moving lower to suckle gently along the thin skin of your throat and over your collarbones. Burying his face between your breasts, he deliberately inhaled, making your toes curl. Pulling the thin straps of your camisole down he looked up again, eyes alight. “May I take this off you?”

It took you three embarrassing tries, but you whispered, “Yes.”

His mouth was on your nipple before the “sss” sound was out of your mouth and you moaned. He fastened hip lips around your nipple and batted the tip of it back and forth with his tongue. Moving to the other, he gave it the same treatment, gently squeezing and stroking both breasts as he moved down past your stomach, sliding two long fingers along your swelling and spread them, blowing lightly on your clitoris and putting a heavy forearm over your hips when your back arched. You knew this trick - oh, lord he was going to do that thing with his tongue to your clit and oh, _shit_ it was as good as you remembered, making the strong muscles in your thighs try to slam closed but his solid body was blocking them. “Mmmm, mmmm,” how could Jonathan hum in disapproval with his mouth on you and you still knew what it meant? You tried to relax and ran your fingers through his curls, the other over your mouth and trying to stifle a truly humiliating series of whimpers and a sound you were pretty sure would sound like a meow if it got out of you. And, it did when two of his fingers slid inside you, and when his lips suctioned harder and they pulled on your clitoris, it was over.

____________

Jonathan wanted to be a gentleman, to wait until his sweet Sirène had recovered a bit, but her legs were wrapped around his hips and she hadn’t lost that blissed-out expression, so he leaned in close, fastening his teeth around her earlobe and giving it a sharp nip. “I want to be inside you. I want to bury my cock high up inside you so I can feel your sweet, wet walls flutter around me. Would you let me do that, baby?”

When she managed to gasp out, “Yes, daddy,” he wasn’t certain he’d make it inside her before he came, but he managed. Head thrown back, spine arched and her legs held over his elbows to keep her sore ass off the bed as he circled and thrust lazily inside her. 

“Such a very good girl,” Jonathan approved hoarsely, “so hot inside, so perfectly slick and snug. I believe my good girl could benefit from another afternoon of cockwarming for her daddy. Would you like that? Keeping daddy’s cock all warm while I worked?”

“Oh…” Sirène managed to stutter, “th- oh, god that’s- that almost killed me last time, daddy!”

Swooping down to kiss her, he enjoyed the way her channel tightened in her surprise. “You were such a good, patient girl. We shall consider it another day. But for now, I shall require you to come again before we come together.” He thrust his hips up sharply, enjoying her yelp and the clenching of her around him. Looking down was a mistake and he groaned. “Your delectably slick pussy is so pink and swollen. I’m splitting you wide, darling, can you feel how your opening stretches around me? Taking my cock so well." Just a light brush or two of his finger around her strained opening sent Sirène off into another trembling orgasm, and then Jonathan began pounding inside her, enjoying the sight of her jolting up the bed, hands gripped in her own hair and trying to maintain any semblance of control. With a dark smile, he took her hands down to his pistoning hips and placed them on his ass. “Squeeze, baby. Push me up inside you and daddy will make you come again.”

Her fingers spread over his firm muscles, feeling them tense and loosen as he fucked into her harder than he’d ever done before, but he felt her little hands squeeze his ass and push him deeper, just as he’d said. It was too much, and Jonathan groaned. “Come with daddy, sweetheart. Come around daddy’s cock, make me wet."

And with a high warble that he knew would embarrass her if she remembered it the next day, his sweet Sirène did just as she was told.

__________________

You were dimly aware that Jonathan was kissing you, light pecks along your cheeks, nose, and forehead. You were a little sad when his warmth left you, but he returned with a warm cloth to clean your center and some cool lotion for your blazing backside. You felt completely boneless, so you expected to fall asleep instantly when he drew up the sheets and curled around you, but you didn't. Staring out the window of your cabin, you felt ... happy? You didn't think you'd ever feel happy again, but here you were. Finally swinging your legs off the mattress and getting up, you pulled on your robe and hesitated at the door. It was locked, of course, but you could faintly hear the wind outside and you wanted to feel it on your face, just for a minute. Looking back at a slumbering Jonathan, you nodded. 

Just for a minute.

Leaning on the railing, you breathed the salt air in deep, sighing blissfully. For one second, you weren't on a monster's luxury yacht. You were on an adventure. Sailing somewhere amazing, like Australia. You'd swim along the Great Barrier Reef, and-

A vicious shove between your shoulder blades sent you off balance and before you could twist and engage your assailant, they hooked their foot under yours and thrust up, sending you over the railing, the ocean welcoming you before you could even scream.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, let's be honest, our girl doesn't have a lot of friends on the boat right now.


	7. Overboard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sirène is alone in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Where there are sharks.

The impact of the water hit you like a punch to the chest and you drifted for a second before coming to your senses. _Shit! C’mon, Sirène!_ You gulped in some more seawater, spitting it back out instantly, _You’re a mermaid, remember?_ You took off in a breaststroke, foolishly thinking you were chasing the yacht until realizing that this was a really stupid idea. It was already way past shouting distance, even if Jonathan had been awake.

“C’mon, 007,” you mumbled between chattering teeth, “what’s the plan?” You could see the harbor lights faintly off to your right, so you turned in that direction and tried to pretend it was that balmy night with Jonathan on Mr. Roper’s shitty island. As you grimly swam toward the beach, you distracted yourself by repeating all the information you’d picked up that day. Names, dates, construction projects - who knew there were perv resorts? - and every other scrap you’d managed to ferret out while those monsters dined on scallops and bought human beings. As a wave buffeted you, your heart seized for a moment. Sharks. Shit. What kind of sharks do they have in the Indian Ocean? The little kinds of sharks that mind their own business or something big and freaky that ate people and whales and stuff? “Don’t think about it!” you hissed to yourself. Your shoulder was cramping so you swam with one arm for a moment, trying to loosen it up. The lights grew brighter as you neared the beach and you tried to orient yourself. This was a really, really bad port for wet, half-naked women without phone or ID. You’d certainly seen enough of the city as you’d all been driven to Hell Lunch and Slave Auction. The thought of it galvanized you and you started swimming faster. You and Jonathan were going to fuck these assholes up. Hard. With a red hot poker hard. 

____________

Jonathan woke abruptly, instantly awake as he always did, and as Sirène always complained he did. With a slight smile, his hand slid over and stopped at the empty space where his beautiful girl should be. “Darling?” He wanted to say Sirène. Sarah was a pretty name. But there was an intimacy about Sirène. His name for her. The way he remembered this beautiful, clever, and fierce girl. But he didn’t say her name. Their peace was too fragile.

Rolling over and gracefully rising from the bed, Jonathan strolled to the bathroom door. “Darling, are you all right?” Opening the door, his heart turned to stone. “Oh, my girl,” he groaned, “you didn’t-”

Jonathan’s furious roar woke everyone. After a frenzied search through the boat, a visibly nervous Giovanni was trying to explain to his cold and terrifying guest that there was no sign of his pet. Lighting a cigarette, Debare leaned against the railing. “She must have fallen overboard, Pine. Had she been drinking?”

For a moment, it looked like Pine was going to strangle the man, but he stopped inches away from the amused man. “The search will begin immediately. Bring in whatever resources are necessary. If she is not found alive … I will find who is responsible, and I will tear the skin from their body.” There was dead silence from the group, broken only by the low hum of the engine, idling after being halted during the search. Then the captain cleared his throat and issued some orders to his crew and everyone dispersed, leaving Jonathan alone at the railing, staring over the black sea.

_____________

Sloshing up on shore, you flopped, boneless on the sand, attempting to breathe quietly and avoid any attention. Trying to orient yourself from the drive through town that morning, you remembered the two luxury resorts right on the beach and started making your way toward the lights of the closest one. You could hear drunken shouts and laughter from some of the smaller, more shabby houses and you skirted around them, trying to keep to the bushes. The night air was cooler than you were prepared for and gritting your teeth to keep them from chattering was making your jaw ache. You nearly cried with relief when you made your way to the back entrance of the hotel. Clothes were priority one, walking around soaking wet in lingerie wasn't the inconspicuous look you needed. Picking the lock on a staff door, you stole a front desk uniform from a locker, mentally apologizing and vowing to pay for it later. Using the locker room shower made you sniffle a bit, the barely warm water felt like heaven. Dressed and marching down the hallway like you belonged there, you found a house phone in an unoccupied nook and circumvented the local connection to dial the number you’d memorized before even leaving London.

“Yes?”

“Maldives. We’ve been separated.”

The shrill tone of her “special” phone woke Angela from her first decent sleep in a week. Her boy was finally over his cold and sleeping through the night, so of course, the bloody phone would go off now…

“What?”

“Connecting you, Director Burr.”

“Angela?”

Pinching the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger, she tried to stave off the headache already forming. Four days in and the mission was already compromised?

The conversation was necessarily short, but you managed to get the key information out.

“Best guess on who threw you overboard?”

You cringed, Angela’s tone was free of judgment but you felt like an idiot. “Unknown. Any one of them would want me gone for one reason or another, but the men would likely try to abduct and sell me. Carlotta - Giovanni’s wife - made no secret of wanting Jonathan. She might have arranged it.”

“Where were you when you went over?”

“Um, about two miles from the harbor in Malé.”

Silence, then Angela asked incredulously, “You swam two miles in the middle of the night in the open ocean?”

“I had two scholarships in college,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck, “track and long-distance swimming. I couldn’t have afforded school without both.” Sighing, you added, “Man, I was in such good shape back then.”

“So were we all,” your director agreed wistfully.

“All right…” you knew Angela well enough to know her shrewd brown eyes were darting back and forth as she plotted. “Let’s utilize you in a different direction right now. I’m sending you new ID and credit cards. An agent will meet up with you within five hours. Are you safe where you are?.”

Looking around the quiet hallway, you nodded absently, “Yes. I can hide out that long.”

“Good, so David will have your information, and-”

“How will you get word to Jonathan?” you interrupted, “I know we’re not supposed to make contact before reaching India, so-”

“He’ll be fine,” Angela’s tone was positively unfeeling, “his fury should have a chilling effect on the rest of those bastards.”

“You’re going to let him think I’m dead for another 72 hours?” you asked incredulously.

“We have to close this link,” Angela warned, “go make yourself scarce.”

“Sure…” suddenly remembering your fear while swimming to shore, you asked, “So are there any really big sharks in this region of the world?”

“Oh, yes,” she answered, “the whale shark, which is the largest fish in the ocean, but quite docile.”

“Good,” you mumbled, but she continued on.

“Now, the Whitetip Terror, that’s different,” Angela added thoughtfully, “horrible creatures, vicious. They grow up to over 3 meters long.” If she heard the strangled sort of noise you made, she didn’t comment on it. “Go hide, Sarah.”

“Yeah, okay,” you mumbled before hanging up and giving a full-body shudder.

_______________

Jonathan’s hand was shaking enough as he raised the glass to his lips that he nearly chipped a tooth. He stared out the window of his stateroom as the black water slowly turned azure as the sun came up. He’d searched with the helicopter crew all night. It had been such a short distance when the yacht was under way- why couldn’t they find his Sirène? Not a clue, not a scrap of cloth floating in the water. The water patrol officers from Malé’s closest port dutifully reported back to him every hour. Nothing? How could there be no trace of his girl? "Sirène..." he whispered, "my mermaid. You're alive, I know it." Putting the glass back on the table and calling the steward for coffee, he vowed that when he found her, he would burn this yacht - and everyone on it - to ash. “Down to the waterline,” Jonathan promised.

A knock on the door made him turn, rubbing his eyes and opening the door, eager for the coffee. But it was not the steward and his caffeine delivery system. It was Carlotta, wearing a dress that drooped deeply over one shoulder and holding a tiny cappuccino cup. “You called?” she drawled invitingly, and with a barely concealed sigh, Jonathan stepped back from the door to let her enter.

________________

You were roused from your exhausted stupor when the soft footsteps on the hall carpet paused in front of you.

"Did you really swim from the boat after getting thrown overboard all the way back into port?" It was a man wearing a deeply amused expression on his dark, handsome face. 

"David," you groaned, rubbing your eyes, "how the hell did you get here so fast?"

He helped you up from the deeply uncomfortable chair where you'd been dozing. That swim had kicked your ass and you were too exhausted to fake it. "You're with me now. I've been tracking shipments - Jesus, Mary and Joseph that makes me sound like a heartless bastard - I've been tracking the kidnapped girls and where they're being sent."

Gripping his arm hard enough to make him flinch, you said, "The kids today ... the unit we bought?" Now it was your turn to be disgusted with yourself. "No, I mean, we didn't buy them, but we did kind of, but they're out of there, right? They're okay?"

He sighed, running his hand over his shaved head. “Yeah, girl. They’re out of there. They’ll be okay. Soon, I mean. But they’re safe.”

Walking out to the car he’d parked in back, you sagged a little in relief. “Thank you, just… Shit. Thank you.”

Driving through the docks holding massive ships, watching the crews load sea containers onboard, you wondered if you’d ever be able to see something like that again without wondering if they held human cargo. “So, where now?”

David’s white teeth flashed a grin at you. “India.”

You groaned. “The belly of the beast.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “Indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is short, I'm sorry. I had to separate the narrative and this was the best place. But I promise the next chapter within a couple of days. Questions will be answered, like why the HELL did Jonathan let that hoe Carlotta into his cabin? And oh, so much more. Thank you as always for reading.


	8. The Plane. The Agent. The Explosives.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sirene begins the next phase of the mission with a new partner. And Jonathan gives Carlotta a Very. Bad. Trip.
> 
> 18+ ONLY. C’mon, people! Work with me! Sex and mentions of human trafficking.

_I suck at getting updates as promised, but I was doing a lot of research into human trafficking in India and I kind of Googled myself into an extra week's worth of information. Hopefully, you'll find it interesting or at least important in upcoming chapters. A huge thank you to[vodka-and-some-sass](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/vodka-and-some-sass) for her help and insight._

Setting the ridiculous little cup of cappuccino on the stateroom’s table, Jonathan forced himself to smile at Carlotta. She’d immediately seated herself, arms stretched out wide on the couch and the position showing off her alarmingly hard breasts to their most upright advantage. “You poor man,” she soothed, “so stressed. You should put your head on my lap, I will help you.”

He stared at her scrawny neck, picturing the intense satisfaction of wrapping his hands around it and squeezing the life out of her. Jonathan never thought that way, not even with Dickie, simply wanting the man gone. But this creature … she was responsible for Sirene’s disappearance. He _knew_ it.

“Will you join me in a drink first?” he asked, his tone even and perfectly enunciated, not a flicker of care on his face. “That will be a good start, don’t you think?” Watching the woman’s crocodile grin spread to a gigantic leer, Jonathan was certain he was right. He seated himself next to her, handing her a glass of scotch. “Thank you for being so concerned,” he purred. Jonathan forced down the raging, furious and terrified part of himself, buried it deep. He needed to be cold now. Focused.

  
__________________  
  


“So you worked with Jonathan - uh, Agent Pine before?”

David broke out in raucous laughter, which made you want to punch him in the neck. But you were really tired from swimming and specifically not thinking about sharks so you let it go. “Aaaagent Pine? So formal,” he jeered. “Yeah, Jonathan’s one of the good ones.” You were flying toward your destination on the coast of India - just by Bangladesh - and it wasn’t the slick private jet you’d lounged on as Daddy’s Pet. This was a shitty mail plane and the nimble little craft bounced violently up and down with the wind gusts, knocking stacks of packages over on you both. “We were in a firefight in Guam, and-”

“Wait,” you interrupted, shoving a case of cookware off your lap, “a firefight? Like, with guns blazing and shit?”

David had been easing his thumb under the tape on a package that smelled like cinnamon and vanilla. He looked up guiltily. “Oh, not guns. We were blowing those bastards clear off the CIA Top Ten Motherfuckers List.”

“You blew them up?” Taking away the package he was attempting to unwrap, you scooted closer. “You know I need details here!”

“We were on extraction,” David said, “a member of Parliament, on holiday with his girlfriend. Wifey at home. The idiot got kidnapped. The bigger idiots who kidnapped him didn’t even know who he was!” He laughed, “They would have asked for more money. They took him because he was wearing a suit that has to have cost a couple thousand pounds in a shitty nightclub. But he was one of the lawmakers in the middle of a trade negotiation with China, so MI:6 had to extract him.”

You could barely breathe. “Go on!”

Shifting a stack of trailer hitches off his leg, David continued. “Now, sometimes we slide in and just get the target out of there, slick. Sneaky. Sometimes it all goes to shit and that’s when you want Pine in your crew. I set off a round of Semtex - you want something with the highest detonation velocity - and damn! It was a beautiful thing, I’m telling you. Those guards running around and shooting at each other and Pine slipped in and extracted Mr. Parliament like a bad molar. He’s running the hostage down the hallway, holding him by the scruff of the neck with his left hand and shooting with his right and they were dropping -”

“Left,” you said absently.

“Huh?” David frowned at you.

“Left hand,” you said, clearing your throat, “J- Pine’s left-handed. He shoots with his dominant hand.”

His face cleared, “Oh, so you’ve seen him in action, huh? Pretty amazing, right?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, “pretty amazing.”

______________

  
  


“What did you do with Sirene?”

Carlotta, who’d been chatting about some French movie idol who’d been at their last party and was “madly in love” with her halted in mid-sentence. “Che cosa?” 

Her mascara was smeared a little, along with the red stain on her lips. Jonathan eyed her clinically, then leaned forward, a hand on either side of her, caging her in. “What. Did you _do._ With my Sirene?”

“Whaaa…?” The ketamine derivative that he’d slipped into her drink was taking effect with impressive speed. The powder was mixed with scopolamine and her lips were already trying to form an answer. She'd been leaning heavily into Jonathan's side, and he gripped her hair, yanking her face closer to his.

Tell me, Princessa, what you have done with my pet?" His words were ice, shaped precisely and hard-edged.

“You doan’ - my handsome boy you do not need that whining cagna!" Carlotta was still attempting to look alluring and the effort was turning Jonathan’s stomach. "Anyway..." she sighed lazily, "she is gone now."

Putting one big hand on her face, squeezing her cheeks - enough to make her pay attention without leaving a mark - Jonathan's nimble fingers on the other hand twirled a switchblade, holding the gleaming edge up to eye level, waving it until her dilated pupils struggled to follow it. "I would hate to carve up this pretty face..." he gritted the words out, trying to stay calm, emotionless. "You are so lovely Princessa, but I think a line carved here-" the razor-sharp tip traveled from her left eye, across her flushed cheek and over her lips. "There's a muscle here-" he pressed just a bit harder, ignoring her yelp, "-where a cut will draw the entire corner of the mouth down, as if you'd had a stroke. You could never smile again." Fat tears were pouring down the monstrous woman's cheeks, but Jonathan was unmoved. 

"I- s-she is-" Carlotta sniffled, "I had Esteban throw her over the side when we left port. So quick, you know." She actually looked up at him, batting her huge lashes hopefully as if this would take care of the issue, "No suffering, darling. I am sure it was very quick."

The grimace that stretched across her face, intending to be comforting, took every ounce of his strength to keep from using the knife on her. Esteban, he remembered, the valet who was clearly her fuck toy. Now, he would definitely be using the switchblade on him. "You won't remember this when you wake, you murderous cunt," Jonathan said, "but I intend to make sure you do not come out of this alive. Unless my Sirene wants to kill you, for which I will gladly step aside and watch every. Single. Cut." His eyes were ice blue, so pale that it made his perfect face look unearthly, almost demonic. This was the face that Carlotta saw just before she lost consciousness.

_____________

“Where are we?” You peered out the dirty little window as the plane landed with a spine-jarring bounce.

“We’re on the eastern side of the country,” David answered, swinging the leather strap of his messenger bag over his head. "We landed in Bengal, via the Sundarban delta. From there, we’ll head up to Kolkata - it’s a major port and,” the young agent’s face seemed to flatten, his mouth a grim line. “It’s the biggest trafficking port in India. Maybe the world.”

Running your hands through your tangled hair, you sighed. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph what a mess.”

David was rooting through a couple of mysterious cases he’d helped load onto the plane, fussing over them like they were carrying kittens. “There’s a child gone missing every eight minutes in this country-” as he tried to lift one of the cases, you hastened over to help him lift it. “Gently!” he whisper-shouted. “And this particular port - Kolkata - has the biggest trafficking hub for the Middle East. That’s what the intelligence division told us.” Setting the case down by the cargo entrance, he wiped his forehead and suddenly looked a little more cheerful. “We’ve got three locations and girl, you and I are going to have a gooood time.” The way he drew out the word so rapturously made you shift uneasily. Your new partner was way too excited about this.

Loading the bevy of crates and cases he’d brought onto the boat, David barked orders at the crew in Urdu, who good-naturedly rolled their eyes and told him his grasp on the language was shit. At least, you were pretty sure that’s what they said. You weren’t clear on all the profanity yet, though that was usually your favorite part of learning a new language. It wasn’t until the boat was heading up the river when you asked, “What’s in those crates? What’s so important? You’ve been fussing over them like a nervous mother.”

When David grinned at you, your brow raised. He was too happy and showing too many teeth. “The largest concentration of EPX-1 in the world.”

This sounded bad and you didn’t even know what that was. “And EPX-1 is what, David?”

He was busy smoothing a wrinkle out of the tarp covering one of the cases. “EPX-1 is a new plastic explosive that MI:6 pulled out of the research stage a bit early. EPX-1 explosive contains pentaerythritol tetranitrate (PETN) with a different particle size as explosive filler bonded by non-energetic thermoplastic binder plasticized by dibutyl phthalate (DBP).”

Your jaw had dropped far enough that a gnat flew into your mouth. Coughing it back out with a shudder, you stared at the lunatic goddamn Angela had saddled you with. “We … were carrying the most concentrated plastique explosive on the planet on that _shitty little cargo plane?_ Are you fucking kidding me?”

David looked at you, perplexed. “Why are you so upset?”

“I had shit falling on me for that entire flight and you don’t think carrying enough explosives to blow up half the continent was a perhaps risky idea?” You wanted to smack him. You hadn’t slept for at least 48 hours and between the bruises from the flight and swimming in shark-infested waters, you were at the end of your goddamn rope. Angela was definitely punishing you. Pinching the bridge of your nose between two fingers, you asked, “How long is the trip to Kolkata?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. Nine hours or so.”

“I’m going to go sleep for five of those,” you said, attempting to sound calm. “And then we can go over the details of the mission again, all right?”

“Yeah, sure,” he shrugged, and you turned away, looking for somewhere to sleep before you just threw _yourself_ overboard this time.

__________

This time, her secure line rang just as Angela had dropped off to sleep. “Bloody hell,” she sighed. 

“Connecting you, Director Burr.”

“When were you intending to tell me?”

Tossing aside her blanket and trying to get out of bed without waking her spouse, Angela padded into the hallway. “Hello to you too, Agent Pine.” But she was stalling, and guiltily aware of it.

“Where is Sarah?” She’d never heard Jonathan’s voice so cold, words clipped off and vicious.

“She was thrown overboard, which I assume you already know,” Angela whispered tartly, tiptoeing past the baby’s room. “Sarah made it back to the beach.”

His voice was almost unrecognizable. “How far?”

“About two miles. They made sure the yacht was underway.”

She heard a sigh, then a clearing of his throat. “I was … asleep. I never heard her leave the cabin.” 

Jonathan was gutted, she could tell. Taking pity on him, Angela said, “I am assuming you already know who’s responsible?”

“Esposito’s wife, Carlotta. The bitch thought I would sleep with her with Sirene out of the way.” Angela’s brow lifted at his slip of the name, but she said nothing.

“The two of you,” she said briskly, “have more lives than a roomful of cats. I’ve assigned her with David Bankole.”

Jonathan interrupted. “The firebug?” he said incredulously.

Angela snorted, filling a glass with water and drinking it sleepily. “You two did so well on your mission in Guam.”

“He blew up half of Dededo! David’s going to-”

Flicking off the bathroom light and heading back to her bed and desperately needed rest, Angela cut him off. “Sarah’s going to have a grand one or two days, and I promised her this. She’s earned it. Now, continue with your placement. You’ll see her when you get to Kolkata. Goodnight, Jonathan.”

An exhausted sigh this time, from a man who’d slept even less than she had. “Goodnight.”

“Jonathan,” she said suddenly, “how did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That Sarah was alive?”

His certainty moved Angela, despite herself. “I ... knew. Just as I would know if she was gone."

As she hung up, she barely heard his last sentence, murmured to himself. "I would have set the world on fire to avenge her.”

___________

You weren’t proud of it, but you were comforting yourself, trying to get to sleep with a method you’d honed over the last two years. Remembering Jonathan. Pressing your thighs together with a sigh, you unfolded one of your favorite memories, like an old love letter, frayed around the edges.

_...That night in the desert, after he’d killed Corky and you’d gotten him back to the tent. He’d sat on the cot, hands on his thighs and staring at nothing. You knew he’d taken life before. But this one had been exceptionally brutal. Terrifying. You knew without Jonathan ever telling you that if Corky had killed him, you would have been next. In the most horrible way the little monster could concoct._

_Going to your knees, you carefully put your hands over his. They were cut and bruised, and you were hoping they’d clear up enough before Mr. Roper could notice them._

_“Daddy?”_

_Jonathan slowly seemed to reboot himself, blinking slowly. “Mmmm?”_

_“Can I help you rest your thoughts? Just for tonight?” He looked so exhausted, your daddy, so soul-weary._

_But, he still tried to smile for you._

_“Yes, darling?” When your hands went to open his sleep pants, he tried to stop you. “That’s not necessary, you don’t…”_

_You smiled, one of the few full, sincere smiles you’d ever given him. “But I would like to? If that’s … you know, all right?” One of his hands touched your cheek, long fingers sliding into your hair. As his calloused thumb slid over your cheekbone, Jonathan sounded unsteady._

_“Yes, my sweet Sirene. That would be … an excellent way to distract me.”_

_Feeling rather brave, you kept your gaze on his as you pulled out his satisfyingly engorged cock. Not that you’d seen many before Jonathan (and none since) but his equipment was something to be admired. Long and heavy, thick in your hand. And when you put your mouth on the tip and sucked it like a lollypop, he gave you a very rewarding groan._

_Encouraged, you gripped the base of his shaft and ran your mouth down as far as you could go, fluttering your tongue on the sensitive underside. Since the beginning of your captivity with him, even when he was harsh, Jonathan had never forced you to give him oral sex, though he’d certainly eaten you out with a certain amount of enthusiasm many times. Having it be your choice - one of the few you had in this scary new life - made you suck harder, eyes watering as the silky tip hit the back of your mouth. Angling your neck, you felt it pop into your throat and breathed through your nose. His head was thrown back, utterly unguarded and for the moment at least, Jonathan was not thinking about that terrible night. Your other hand smoothed along his thigh and then down to his scrotum, gently grasping it and stroking it between your fingers. Jonathan’s cock … you thought vaguely, it was … meat, a thick steak or something equally as luscious and solid. The warmth and taste of his skin, teasing your tongue along the swelling veins, circling the silky tip of him before plunging his cock back down your throat. And when you hummed pleasedly, enjoying the sense of power, happy that you were giving Jonathan the pleasure he’d given you so many times, he groaned, loudly. Humming again in inquiry, you realized that it was pushing him towards his finish and diabolically continued. You focused on his increased breathing, his muscled abdomen tightening, drawing in as his hips thrust up once._

_“Darling … Sirene…” Jonathan warned hoarsely, “I’m going to- pull off, sweetheart.”_

_“Nuh-mmm…” you hummed your disagreement and felt his cock surge wider, painfully in your throat as he came._

_When you finished swallowing, feeling a little overwhelmed but a little pleased with yourself that you’d sent this controlled man over the edge, you kitten licked him clean, enjoying his groans and pulled his sleep pants back up. Jonathan was on his back, chest still heaving and looking at the tent ceiling. When you hovered over him, he looked at you, stroking the back of your hair gently. “I- thank you.”_

_Kissing his jawline, you curled up alongside him. “Rest, Daddy. It will be better in the morning.”_

By the time you whispered those words again, lulled by the boat engine, you fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Cagna - Italian for bitch

Che cosa - Italian for what?


	9. Two Cases of EPX-1 and Tchaikovsky's Overture 1812

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jonathan must play the game without Sirene by his side. And Sirene gets to blow shit up.
> 
> 18+ as always, no specific warnings for this chapter, you know there's human trafficking involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! I won't give you any reasons why I suck and this took forever, because it's boring. But life seems to have settled down and I'm looking forward to putting out updates much faster.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to the lovely @imay_8, who filled my heart with such kind comments about this story...

The yacht docked early the next day after heading in endless circles, looking for his Sirene. Jonathan had given up any pretense at calling her Sarah. Once again, because of him she nearly died and she was quite definitely in danger teamed up with that lunatic firebug David. And what the bloody hell did Angela mean, “I promised her this, she’s earned it?”

He was clipped and curt with his farewells, meeting varying degrees of chagrin and false concern, and in the case of Debare, outright amusement.

“I’ll see you in Kolkata,” Jonathan said in the same tone he’d use for “I’ll see you in hell.” Debare’s handsome face grew cold, but he nodded. “I’m sure you’ll find the merchandise at the,” he chuckled sardonically, “home office is top shelf.” His cold smile faded just an edge when Pine stared back at him, expression composed but eyes alight like the fires of hell.

Pulling away from the marina, Jonathan cursed himself. In all the time with Roper - no matter how bad it got - he’d always kept his composure. He’d handled everything with calm. But now… he wanted to put every one of these monsters in the middle of a crowd of their abused, starving captives and tell them to have at it. In fact… Jonathan smiled for the first time in the last 48 hours. Maybe he would do just that.

___________

“No! Look, this is simple- the sequence is: one, shape the plastique into a cone. Two, attach the agitator. You’re using the detonator cord as the shock that triggers the EPX-1. Three, you back the hell off when the chemical reaction begins, because the decomposition of the EPX-1 will-”

David had been lecturing you for at least three hours, making you build and re-build an explosive kit with the terrifying material you’d dragged over three countries in the mail plane and up the river in this leaky-ass boat. "Yeah, okay, agent. I got you. Explain how we will be utilizing this exercise?" You were pissy, and he knew it. But you were unprepared for the huge, almost feral grin that spread across that kindly, dark face.

"Ooo, girl. We're gonna blow some shit up."

Dressed in sturdy black jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that was making you sweat buckets, you were eyeing the comings and goings of the large and ugly office building in a particularly disreputable part of the city. Through your binoculars, you could see the ugly, indifferent expressions of men used to selling bodies and the souls that accompanied them. But it was three heavily-made up women that made you curl your lip.

"Those are the groomers," David whispered, "they're the ones that convince the parents to send their girls. Or they lure them away, far enough from home to get thrown into the trunk of a car. And some..." he hesitated and you looked over at his sad face. "Sometimes the parents seek them out to sell their children."

“When do we get moving?” Suddenly, you could barely endure the thought of leaving this shit-heap without blowing it sky-high.

“Patience,” he chided, “we have to wait for the buyers to clear it out. There’s a huge auction tomorrow night, they’re clearing out four different holding houses to move the stock - shit, I mean the kids - and that’s when we’re gonna party.”

You couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across your face. “Best. Night. EVER.”

David laughed.

____________

Jonathan pulled on the crisply-pressed shirt, a fine cotton, hand-stitched to fit his long body. Emerald cufflinks. A slight dash of Tom Ford Private Blend Soleil Blanc cologne and he pulled on his suit jacket. Straightened the silk tie while his brain scrolled through the numbers and names he had to procure today. Hidden inside his precisely placed tiepin was a camera, top of the line, and MI:6’s best. A fisheye lens with a powerful anti-detection electronic blocker. He’d be filming the slave auction and every piece of shite attending it. His thoughts kept drifting back to Sirene. Was she safe? Was that lunatic pyromaniac endangering her? He knew they were part of the “cleanup crew,” now that Sirene couldn’t be spotted alive. But the anxiety of wondering where she was, what she was doing was disordering his usual, rigidly composed thought process. “Focus, damn you!” he hissed to himself. He still had pages and pages of intel to memorize and the only thing he could picture was her face, made beautiful in her orgasm the night he lost her.

Whereas before Jonathan’s mantra was “Keep her alive,” now it was simply, “Please, stay alive.”

Pulling up to the palatial estate just outside of Kolkata, Jonathan straightened his cuff, allowing the perfect three-quarter inch of snowy white shirt to appear from the suit sleeve. “I’m not expecting trouble,” he told the man across from him in the luxury SUV, "our job today is primarily information gathering and purchasing as many children as we can. They are the priority.”

The other man, huge with a nose that had clearly been broken too many times to breathe properly, nodded. “Aye. Your security detail will be a bunch of mean-looking arseholes.”

“Excellent,” Jonathan nodded appreciatively, before sighing. “There is a wrinkle, Ballard.”

A matching sigh. “There always is.”

“I received new orders today. We’re looking for the daughter of a Saudi official, very high up. She apparently likes to evade her bodyguard and sneak out to nightclubs with her friends.” He held up his phone, showing a picture of a lovely young woman, maybe nineteen or twenty. Her kohl-lined eyes were twinkling over her hijab. “She is,” Jonathan said, “priority one. There’s data showing movements from her region into India. If she’s been taken by Bachchon ka Bachaav Samaaj, she should show up in the auctions today, but likely tomorrow.”

“Why tomorrow?” asked Ballard, leaning in to get a better look at her face. “Do y’have a full-face image?”

“Yes,” Jonathan’s thumb swiped to the next picture, taken at home with the girl posed with her mother. “Today will be for the…” he swallowed his disgust, “...the lower and medium value girls and children. Agarwal’s top-shelf product will be shown tomorrow.”

“A pleasure, Mr. Pine, I’ve heard so much about you!” Ekbal Agarwal’s voice was low, cultured and he spoke perfect English, taking pride in his crisp pronunciation. “I understand my associates-” he nodded to the suddenly apprehensive Bianchis and a clearly sullen Debare Oni, “-lost your sweet pet. I assure you, we have an excellent selection here tonight, and your first selection is yours, as my gift.”

Jonathan nodded graciously, “You’re very generous, my friend.”

Agarwal smiled at him beneficently, “Of course.” He was wearing a hand-tailored suit, an exquisite fit that clearly cost thousands of pounds. His thick white hair was casually styled and Jonathan’s practiced eye could tell he wasn’t carrying a gun. His entourage, however, was packing enough weaponry to take over a small country.

As was Jonathan’s, just not as blatantly displayed. Sitting through the first two rounds of auctions, he cursed that Sirene wasn’t there. First, because she had an excellent memory for faces and names, and secondly, the two girls Agarwal had foisted on his as “entertainment” wouldn’t currently be attempting to grope his crotch. Because he knew they could be beaten or even killed for their “failure” in entertaining him if he sent them away, he gritted his teeth and simply moved their hands. Being seated comfortably, front and center gave the camera hidden in his tiepin some excellent shots. But none of the girls he scanned matched the image of the kidnapped Saudi girl. 

His wily host sat next to him, watching Pine’s purchases of the youngest children. Agarwal finally chuckled. “These new resorts of yours, I can see they will be very popular.”

Smiling blandly, Jonathan nodded. “That is the goal, of course.” Eyeing the man next to him, he asked, “And have you thought about expanding from procurement to hosting? It’s wildly lucrative and…” he casually brushed a bit of glitter from one of the girls mauling him, “much less messy than my former profession.”

“Ah,” nodded Agarwal, “I’d met Roper many times, he’d purchased several of my inventory for business associates.” He eyed Jonathan shrewdly. “Sadly, your girl did not come from my stock. I would have charged him triple for her.”

Knowing this was intended as a compliment and also knowing that if he sat next to this loathsome troll for one more second that he’d be forced to disembowel him. Jonarhan graciously took his leave, strolling cooly from the terrible room that stank of the opium they’d given the victims to keep them quiet.

“Nothing on the Saudi girl?” He could hear Angela’s tiredness, her impatience.

“She hasn’t been seen,” agreed Jonathan. He was stuck in a 4x4 space in his hotel suite when he could successfully dampen any as yet undetected listening devices, and his shoulders twitched uncomfortably. “But the ‘premium stock,’ as they call it, is coming up tomorrow. There’s been chatter about it all over the Dark Web, according to Ballard. He’s an excellent security support, by the way.”

“Good,” Angela sounded if possible, even more exhausted. 

“Is your son keeping you up at night?” Jonathan blurted.

“What?” she was clearly startled.

“Well… Sire- Sarah was concerned about you. She’s been talking about the baby and that you weren’t getting any sleep. She wanted to suggest you get a night nanny, but-” Jonathan chuckled, “-she said she thought you’d, and I quote, ‘lose your shit' if she suggested it.”

“Really.” He could nearly smell his director’s disapproval. “Anything else?”

Scratching the back of his neck, Jonathan wondered if he should just shut up. Ignoring his usual care before he spoke, he continued, “Sirene - Sarah, rather, said you would fight the idea because you’d feel it would undermine your ability to be a good mother and that you’ve tried for so long, that you’d be even more aware of it. But she was adamant that you couldn't run a massive intelligence division without sleeping.”

“I see…” he couldn’t tell whether Angela was still irritated or amused. “You two have had wide-ranging conversations, then.”

Jonathan couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “She’s a very bright girl- young woman.”

Angela actually snickered. “Ah, you are learning Pine. We’ll speak tomorrow, good luck.”

Day Two of the slave auction:

You were trying to remember the last time you were in this much acute physical discomfort. Lying upside down, sweat running into your eyes and arms on fire from trying to wire this goddamn EPX-1 to the underside of the steel girder without blowing yourself up. After monitoring all four "holding pens" and watching the comings and goings, your job now was to wait for each crop of stolen children to be hauled away so that you could wire the hellhole they'd been trapped in and turn it into a fireball big enough to be seen in Pakistan. And you were _so_ looking forward to this part. You knew just enough to be clear that Jonathan was buying as many of the little ones as he could while you and David were preparing one big giant "fuck you!" for the Bachchon ka Bachaav Samaaj and every piece of shit working for them. You really did have the best part of the job right now, even if you were fighting your misery and loneliness for Jonathan. Your hands slowed a bit. This is what it would be like when the mission was over. When you'd go back to your little houseboat on the Thames and he'd go somewhere else. Gritting your teeth, you forced yourself to finish. It had taken such a short time to fall in love with that gorgeous son of a bitch again. Or maybe you never fell out. No matter, it would hurt like hell when he left, either way. 

"Okay, this is going to be great!" David was so excited, he was almost giggling, and you were this close to giggling too. You were both utterly vile, coated in sweat and dirt, exhausted. You'd made it back to the boat just moments ago, with the morning well underway. "We wait until the auction starts up again. Once they start running through the girls, we've got MI:6, CIA, and IB agents waiting to move in."

You frowned. "What, seriously? That's a hell of a lot of intelligence agencies and so many people to trust. What happened to the slick snatch and grab arrests MI:6 planned?"

David yawned, rolling his eyes. "This is their turf, so IB has to be involved. Apparently there's a government official who intends to be on hand tomorrow so he can grab the credit in the press."

"Uh, huh..." You were chewing your lip furiously. "This sounds like a dumpster fire waiting to happen. How do they trust the official? And who's _he_ alerting? We have the big names from nearly every major trafficking ring in one building tomorrow. With bodyguards. And guns. And unprotected, kidnapped children."

You looked up to see David looking at you with some compassion. "I know it's complete shite. But this is how it's done. If this all goes to plan, three countries get the credit for making a sizeable dent in this hellscape. And then..." he began rubbing his hands together, like a gleeful child, "then with all the new intelligence, we get started on the resorts. And we blow them straight to hell."

And just as planned, it was smooth as silk. 

“I’ve triangulated the first three of these buildings so that we can detonate them simultaneously.” David was fiddling with the controllers for the drones, his earbuds and shoving you down into position on the rooftop a couple of blocks away from the first holding house. Below, there was the usual hubbub of a poorer neighborhood, kids running back and forth, shouting and kicking a battered soccer ball. The air was filled with the smells of curry and fish. 

You frowned. “How far is the blast zone?” 

God, the man was giggling again. “That’s the best part! It’s an implosion! You’ll see the fire shoot up like a rocket, but no scatter.” 

Still scanning the streets with the powerful binoculars you’d been manning, you nodded. “Okay, based on what we saw yesterday, no one in their right mind gets within half a mile of that shitheap.” David handed you an earbud. “What is this for? Intel chatter?”

“Intel chatter?” He rolled his eyes, “You’ve been watching too many spy movies. No, I made us a mixtape.”

You couldn’t help the huge grin that made your cheeks actually hurt. “No freaking way.”

“Way,” David nodded.

And so you found yourself laughing uncontrollably as a giant gout of flame rose from Hellhole #1 as you were enjoying “Tchaikovsky's Overture 1812.” Sending an electronic pulse to the drone hovering over Hellhole #2 was accompanied by Blue Oyster Cult’s “Burning For You.” And then as the steel girders you’d wired on Hellhole #3 detonated with a flash so blinding that it took you close to half an hour to stop seeing spots - you and David sang along with “Burning Ring of Fire” - the old school Johnny Cash version, of course - slightly louder than you should have. 

When you’d finally slipped out of your vantage point, David looked at you, attempting to be stern even though his lips twitched. “How much EPX-1 did you use on those girders?”

You shrugged defensively. “Two cases, just like you told me.”

His eyes bugged. "I told you half a case! Are you nuts? We’re lucky the entire area’s not a crater!”

“You said two cases!”

“No! Sarah, I didn’t! Two cases…” David muttered as you both hastily packed up your gear. The fourth house was too far away to coordinate, so you had to get across the city and to your vantage point as fast as humanly possible, now that the alarm would be raised.

Staggering up the broken staircase and onto the roof close to the final location, you were wheezing, clutching your side and feeling the weight of your pack crush your spine. “Man, I thought I was in good shape,” you gasped out to David, who was rapidly attaching electronics together and listening in on a conversation. Dropping to your knees, you pulled out the drone, making sure the coordinates were coded in. 

“It’s cell conversations within the blast area,” he said, still listening as his hands kept moving. “I isolated two of the guards, they’re fighting about which group is going into the building because of the other blasts. There’s more men on the way.”

“Let’s get going,” you nodded, holding out the drone for his final check.

That’s when everything went sideways. You were trained for things going sideways, but when someone hit the drone with a spray of bullets from an AK-47, you looked at each other. You could hear the frightened screams from the homes closer to you and people racing to get off the streets.

“Shiiiit,” groaned David, “we’re going to have to get closer to set off the EPX-1. I wish it was nighttime.”

Yanking a robe out of your pack and a headscarf, you agreed, “I know. How did they spot the drone? Those suckers are practically invisible!”

“They’ve got an electronic tracker in there,” David groaned, getting to his feet. “Has to be. This is where they keep the most valuable girls. It’s better guarded.” You both raced down the stairs and at the bottom, he put his hand on the door and turned to you with an odd smile. “By now, Sarah, they’ll probably have 30-40 of Agarwal’s goons in and around this dump. I timed it this way.”

Your jaw dropped. He was knowingly waiting for the building to fill up and take dozens of men out in a single blast. “Was… that part authorized?”

He shrugged, “No.”

You couldn’t help your smile, thinking about that basement where you’d been tied up, laying on the concrete floor. About the faces of the girls you'd seen in that revolting auction. “Let’s go.” Your anxiety mounted as you walked through the area, head down and moving briskly, giving off the air of, "Nothing to see here, move along." 

“Yeah, can’t avoid the stares,” mumbled David, “a black man and a white woman in the middle of an industrial area in Eastern India.” 

“You have to have the Jedi mind trick,” you said out of the corner of your mouth. “Remember when Obi-Wan Kenobi zoned out the stormtroopers and told them to move along? You have to go full Jedi.”

Despite the dire nature of your speed walk, he struggled not to laugh. “Obi-Wan Kenobi? Never mind, when we get within 500 feet, I’m turning on the signal to the detonator. We’re only going to have maybe a minute before they triangulate our position. We blow this dump and we run, you hear me?”

Nodding, you said, “If we get separated, we meet back at the boat.” Your steps slowed, the building was in sight now, ugly and gray. Some of the windows were broken, most were boarded up. Your gaze darted back and forth to the points where you’d set the EPX-1. This would work. It had to work.

____________________

"Ah, Mr. Pine, a pleasure to see you."

Jonathan's brow arched but he nodded graciously to the man, he recognized him as one of Agarwal's closest aides. "Hello, attendance seems… sparse today.”

The man bowed slightly and nodded. “This is the stage in the auctions where all the lower level bidders have been- priced out, as you say? If you’ll come with me…”

Frowning slightly, Jonathan and his security detail followed the aide through the palatial home and out to the back. The gardens there were stunningly beautiful and lush, and beyond them was a landing pad, a giant helicopter already warming up. Turning back to him, the aide smiled ruefully. “I fear the location for today’s auction had to be changed, you’ll be flown to New Delhi and returned promptly this evening, I assure you.” Gaze moving back to the helicopter, Jonathan could see some of the bidders from yesterday settling in, along with Debare and the Bianchis. “There will only be room for one bodyguard to accompany you, Mr. Pine. The rest can follow on the next transport. This will take you to a private landing strip and you’ll be flown out on Mr. Agarwal’s private jet. But I assure you the rest of your men will join you very shortly after landing.”

Pulling out his coldest glare, Jonathan snarled, “This is unexpected. I do not appreciate sudden changes in plans. Nor does my security detail.” Ballard, standing just behind him was in fact quietly seething.

Spreading his hands in apology, the aide smiled, “I understand, sir. But this is the only way to attend the final evening of the auction.”

Groaning internally, Ballard him aside. “I don’t like this,” the agent whispered, “it stinks. I have a feeling someone slipped up and alerted Agarwal.”

“If they did,” Jonathan’s lips were barely moving, “it doesn’t mean our cover is blown. None of the arresting officers know who I am. We have to go.” Ballard scowled at him, then turned to the rest of the security detail to give them the change in plans. Striding towards the aircraft, they looked up to see Carlotta’s red-lipsticked mouth spread wide in alarmingly excited greeting.

Agarwal's Embraer Lineage 1000 was in fact, extremely comfortable. Smiling flight attendants proffered drinks, slippers, offers of a neck massage and warm cloths to cleanse the dust of the helicopter from their faces. Idly waving off food or drink, Jonathan amiably conversed with some of the other top buyers - two men from Switzerland with square, hard faces. An older Brazilian with a booming laugh who found everything quite amusing. A vicious-looking, thin-lipped woman who looked like someone cast for the role of the cruel governess in a Victorian romance. And Debare, who smoked cigars continuously as he stared at the others and the Bianchis, who were intending, apparently, to get drunk as quickly as possible. The tense atmosphere broke when their landing was announced only two hours later. While waiting to get into the luxury SUV's waiting by the jet Ballard leaned in. "I tried sending electronic breadcrumbs through the entire flight. They jammed the signal. You'd better be right about them not knowing who you're working for." 

The new auction site was just as loathsomely over the top, luxury-wise, as Agarwal's home in Kolkata. As they were ushered into a massive sitting room, chairs arranged to circle a small raised area, Jonathan scanned for all the possible exits while Ballard continued to try to contact the agents left behind. The atmosphere was, if possible, even darker than it was the day before. The auctioneer handling the bidding seemed oddly excited, the aides were wandering restlessly, keeping an eye on the buyers and leaning in often with questions for their comfort. When the first girls were pulled out into the “stage,” stumbling and eyes half-lidded from being drugged, everything seemed to settle down. To Jonathan’s frustration, they were still taking bids off the dark web, making it harder to track the buyers. Still, when agents finally moved in and arrested this group, they’ll have taken most of the major players out of the game.

“We have some fresh new arrivals to the auction, just procured today” the auctioneer was saying brightly. “Up next, a lovely American, blonde, brown-eyed and…” Jonathan’s spine turned to ice. They were dragging her into the room, his Sirene, dazed, pupils dilated, lips parted. 


	10. When Everything Turns To Complete Crap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything turns to complete crap. Because sometimes the secret agent life is like that. A total fucking buzzkill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience! And for my friends who speak Hindi, I swear I did everything I could to be sure this was accurate, including sending the dialogue to the lovely @imnotrevealingmyname to make sure it was correct. Thank you for allowing me the use of your beautiful language for rather unpleasant people.
> 
> (Translations are below the chapter text)

While the auctioneer was busy extolling Sirene’s assets, Jonathan felt the heavy hand of Agarwal on his shoulder as the man seated himself next to him, straightening the crease in his dress pants. 

“How DARE you-” Jonathan hissed.

“-I do wonder,” his host interrupted him, “how we found your precious, recently departed pet setting off explosives at one of my key holding areas with a known MI:6 operative?” Agarwal smiled pleasantly, but the fury in his eyes hit Jonathan like a gut punch. “My team was fortunate enough to be present at the fourth location your associates were attempting to destroy. They may have been successful in detonating the explosives, but we have them.”

Jonathan was utterly still, eyes on the man while hearing the auctioneer’s lurid description of his Sirene, who looked barely able to stand. “I do not care where you found her! You will release my pet into my care immediately, and-”

There was an audible click behind him of a gun being cocked, and he heard Ballard grunt. When he turned, his fellow agent was choking from the barrel of a gun shoved in his throat by one of Agarwal’s suited goons.

“Now turn around, Agent Pine, and close your mouth.” His host’s tone turned oily, amused. “I still have not determined your fate, but I want you to enjoy your pet’s. She has several very enthusiastic bidders in this room.” Looking at the group, Jonathan’s heart thudded. The Bianchis were nearly bouncing in their seats with excitement, Carlotta’s face distorted by a huge, savage grin. Debare’s hand was also languidly raised to bid, and the two cruel-faced Swiss were leaning forward in interest. 

“...Do I hear a bid of £50,000? Ah, very good. Thank you, Sig Bianchi.”

“Stop this,” Jonathan said between his teeth, “you’ll find you’re making a deadly mistake.”

Lighting up a cigar, Agarwal puffed a cloud of smoke in his direction. “I think not, Agent Pine.”

“...£75,000, very good, thank you Mr. Debare. Do I hear…”

 _Oh my god,_ Pine thought, staring at the unsteady form of Sirene, barely clad in the lurid scraps of lace and silk. _How could this have happened?_

Earlier in the day…

“...when we get within 500 feet, I’m turning on the signal to the detonator,” David said. “We’re only going to have maybe a minute before they triangulate our position. We blow this dump and we run, you hear me?”

It was only moments later when you were both in range and David pulled the device from his jacket. Just as his hand flicked the switch, an insect buzzing past your ear seemed to knock him off his feet, onto his back with a vivid crimson splash.  
_  
Just do it just do it just do-  
_  
You thought it wildly as you threw yourself over him, finger frantically stabbing for the switch that would blow this monstrous place and these sick bastards clear to hell. But just as you slapped the switch, you felt a hand in your hair, tearing it nearly from your head and then percussive heat of the 1, 2, 3, and 4 … punch that David planned as the crumbling concrete and steel collapsed in on itself. Unfortunately, the man kept his grip on you as you were both blown backward. 

“Tum buree veshya ho!” he screamed into your already violently ringing ear. As he raised his gun to shoot you, another hand, filthy from the dust and bloodied, grabbed his arm. "Nahi! Agarwal use zinda chahate hain!"

As they ripped you off the still form of David, you desperately searched for any sign of life, but his face was slack, mouth slightly open as blood trickled from it.

The men - only a few left, based on the bodies you saw scattered on the ground - threw you into a van, kicking and fighting the entire time. Losing patience, the man who’d saved your life barked an order and a needle was plunged painfully into your neck. _Feels like deja vu…_ you thought, chuckling vaguely as your vision grew dim and you fell into the dark well again.

“Hello? Hello?”

Groaning, you felt a hesitant hand patting your cheek.

“Hello? You should wake up please?”

Opening your eyes, you found a pretty girl above you, dark brown eyes worried. “Okay, ‘m up…” Forcing yourself to prop against the wall, you looked around. “Where are we?”

Her face fell. “They have moved us. We-” she looked over to acknowledge the others, “-we were in a warehouse. It smelled very bad. This is a mansion, I think. It’s huge. The guards…” her voice lowered, “I heard them talking. We’re the ‘expensive ones,’ they said.” Her eyes filled with tears. “They’re going to sell us.”

Swallowing with difficulty, you forced your racing pulse to slow down. You are not the same girl you were two years ago. You were going to fuck these bastards up, one way or another. “Did you see another prisoner with them?” you asked, “A darker man, his name is David?” When she shook her head, your heart sank. Forcing a smile, you offered, “I’m Sirene, what’s your name?”

Wiping her eyes, “Miriam. I was taken outside a club in Jeddah. Two days ago, I think. Or maybe the day before? They don’t let us see outside.”

“Okay…” looking around, you counted twenty-five girls, varying ages, but you guessed between thirteen to twenty. You wanted to vomit. Thirteen. Your anger got you up and moving slowly, trying to get the feeling back in your legs. Aside from Miriam, no one spoke. She paced alongside you, lightly touching your arm when you stumbled. "Thank you for being brave, for helping me," you praised. Patting your filthy jeans, you tried to think of what you could possibly have on you that might help get the hell out of there. Your backpack was gone and the long dress you'd used to disguise yourself. There were tables against one wall, cluttered with all kinds of makeup, hair products, nail polish and more. There were racks of skimpy dresses and lingerie that made you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, remembering that night, standing nearly naked in front of Mr. Roper and his disgusting men. 

_You are not the same girl you were two years ago._

Taking a deep breath, you asked, “Is there a bathroom?”

Miriam nodded, pointing to a door in the corner.

Opening the door, you surveyed the surprisingly modern toilets, showers and two sinks. It was only the two of you in there, and you leaned in to whisper. “Do you trust these girls? Have any of them tried to kiss up to the guards?”

Her brow furrowed, “Kiss…?”

“You know, try to make friends with them?”

Miriam nodded, “A couple of the older ones, the two blonde girls.” 

“Okay…” you sucked in a deep breath. Trusting her could be stupid and dangerous, but you needed help and she’d been kind to you for no reason, other than to be kind. “I’m going to try to get us out of here. What happened yesterday? What did they do with the other girls?”

Her eyes watered. “They dragged them into the bathroom there - disgusting place! - and sprayed them with water. From a hose, very harsh. They dressed them in things like they have here, makeup too. And they put their hands over the girls' nose and mouth and made them sniff a powder. The girls were just ... blank? They obeyed them then."

Blood running cold, you asked, “What color is the powder, did you see?”

“I think brown?”

“Maybe opium,” you mused, “they wouldn’t waste heroin on inventory.” You looked at Miriam’s horrified face and took her hand. “I know this is scary, but we can get out, and hopefully the other girls.”

“My father’s very important back home,” she says hopefully, “I thought perhaps ... they are just holding me for ransom?”

Forcing a smile, you nodded, “That would be good. But let’s prepare, okay?”

Nodding fiercely Miriam said, “Tell me what to do.”

Ten minutes later, you were back in the bathroom, looking around for ceiling tiles, or a vent. The room had concrete walls and no windows. “Okay, okay, let’s see…” you mumbled, pulling the laces out of your boots and wrapping one tightly around the hairspray can and the bottle of nail polish remover you’d pilfered from the table while Miriam distracted the other girls, especially the blondes, who'd stared at you with dislike. Coating the other shoelace with the acetone-based polish remover, you tied the combination together and lifted a toilet lid. “Oh, thank god for low water pressure,” you mumbled, putting the improvised bomb inside above the water level and leaving the highly flammable shoelace dangling just out of sight. Just as you finished, you heard the main door open and shouting, and the girls beginning to cry.

Showtime.

 _I’m always going to judge the women more harshly,_ you thought, hastily showering as two women screamed at you and the other girls to hurry. There were men standing inside the room, leering while they fingered their guns and it made you want to light that fuse right now.

_Patience._

_The men? Total assholes,_ you thought bitterly as you swiftly brushed your hair and put on the cosmetics they shoved at you, _but the women? Doing this to other women? Bitches. No, Carlottas, that's what they are!_ One of the younger girl’s hands were shaking, and she couldn’t get the makeup on. The female guard slapped her, screaming in her face as the girl cried harder. 

“Main uski madad kar sakti hoon, madam, agar aap anumati dengee?” you said quickly, pickup up the brush and the powder. The woman sneered at you but nodded as she went off to harangue another captive. “Shhh, shhh,” you soothed, trying to smile reassuringly at the weeping girl. And then the moment you were waiting for. The thing that scared the shit out of you. Two of the men pulled out packets and began tapping power into the palm of their hands. "Kya main bathroom jaa sakti hoon?" One of the Carlottas looked at you and scowled, jerking her head toward the restroom. Not quite scampering, you got inside and sparked the fuse into a slow smolder with the lighter you’d found in your jeans and hidden in the bathroom earlier. Looking up in the mirror, you stared at your pale face, patches of rouge standing out oddly on your skin. “Don’t forget,” you whispered, “no matter what they give you. Don’t forget who you are.” Then one of the Carlottas had her claws in your hair and was dragging you back into the room, echoing with sobs and shrieking from the others. Holding your breath long enough to outlast the monsters with the powder was impossible, they knew all the tricks, hitting you in the stomach so you’d open your mouth to gasp. After that, it was a pleasant kind of numbness, your abdomen didn’t really hurt anymore and a gentle haze settled over everything, like a soothing blanket on a winter’s night.

  
  


“tum buree veshya ho” Hindi for “you evil whore!”

"Nahi! Agarwal use zinda chahate hain!" Hindi for “No! Agarwal wants her alive.”

“Main uski madad kar sakti hoon, madam, agar aap anumati dengee?” Hindi for “I could help her, madam, if you will allow?”

"Kya main bathroom jaa sakti hoon?"Hindi for “Please may I go to the bathroom?”


	11. Singed Lingerie & Stolen Firetrucks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you are too stoned to appreciate your superlative skills as an arsonist.

In the comforting cocoon of your forced opium buzz, you hummed lightly, swaying on the terrible high heels they’d made you wear. You heard voices, shrill with excitement, calling out higher and higher sums of money.

“£375,000, excellent, thank you…” 

The auctioneer continued to entice the crowd for some reason while you murmured, “Wow, that’s pretty good.” There was laughter, though you weren’t clear on why.

_Remember who you are._

You raised your head, squinting through the bright lights at the group of men and women beyond them. Oh, there was that bitch Carlotta! You were gonna just… You rubbed your stinging eyes. You were gonna… There was soft crying to your left, and you turned to see that nice girl - what was her name? That nice girl who helped you was crying, watching the bidding and you with wide, terrified eyes.

“S’okay, sweetie.” You flapped your hand at her, smiling reassuringly. “I got this.” What did you … uh … got? Looking out again, you found him. Jonathan. “Hey, Daddy…” you whispered absently. His face was sheet-white and utterly blank, his thin mouth a pale slash. Aw, damnit. Was he mad at you? How come?

“£530,000. A record, I believe for this-?” The auctioneer was leaning in as another man whispered in his ear. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have an … unprecedented offer from an online bidder-” There was a chorus of protest, and he held up in hand sternly. “Sahab Argawal, there is an offer for not only the young lady, but for Mr. Pine as well.”

The huge room echoed with the shouts and furious objections as you smiled absently. Well, that was hilarious. Let’s see how Jonathan likes it.

____________

At least twenty plans to rescue Sirene and escape this monument to filth and bad taste ran through Jonathan’s nimble mind, only to be briskly rejected as he moved on to another. _No weapons … cover blown … Ballard inches away from being shot in the head and the love of my fucking life about to be sold off as I sit here like an idiot. Well done, Pine._

When the auctioneer made the stunning proposal that he be sold off along with Sirene, Jonathan could _swear_ she grinned. 

Argawal was leaning back, fingertips pressed together in a contemplative fashion as the Bianchis, Debare and the two lunatics from Switzerland were all voicing their vociferous objections to the sale. He finally cleared his throat and looked at the giddy auctioneer. “What is the bid for the pair?”

“Ah, £300,000,000, Sahab Argawal.”

_______________

You hummed a little bit more. Three hundred million fucking pounds. Well, damn. Why did that amount like … ring a bell? Also, all that fighting and screaming with the other buyers was good, ‘cause it was dragging this out, and that was good, ‘cause…

Shit. Why was that good again?

There was a huge … poofing sound as it felt like all the air was displaced from the huge room and then suddenly shoved back in like a tsunami. There was screaming, you thought it sounded like the mean woman who slapped that younger girl, and alarms started blaring and-

“Oh, yeah!” you said happily, “That’s right!” You looked out to see Jonathan viciously elbow the man behind him in the face, crushing his nose and dropping the goon like a bag of dirt. The guy behind Jonathan, who looked all … British, did something similar to the guy next to him and then the shooting started.

Oh, shit. “Grab someone’s hand!” you shouted at a crying Miriam, pulling her down by one arm as you tried to grab the girl next to her. “We’re gonna go ... uh ... out that way.” You noticed with an opium-distanced amusement that the two blondes Miriam had pointed out as untrustworthy were screaming like buggered geese and trying to climb the armed goons closest to them like the floor was lava.

You chuckled absently. Lava. You loved "The Floor is Lava” game when you were a kid. Shaking your head, you tried to concentrate again. There was a gratifying amount of smoke billowing through two doors already, so that left only the main entrance - unfortunately, the most guarded one - to get the girls through. On the bright side … fuck, this was like thinking through a layer of cotton candy! On the bright side Dadd- Jona- fuck, he was there and he had someone’s semi-automatic because he was firing short, controlled bursts in the direction of the screaming guests, backed by the other man firing in the opposite direction. Coughing on the smoke, you were leading a group of the girls, hand in hand like you were on a third-grade field trip and trying not to trip over anyone. As the smoke thickened, you kept your eyes on the muzzle flash from Jonathan’s gun to find him.

“Sirene!” Jonathan’s voice came from your left and you groaned, changing direction slightly. This was a good idea because the muzzle flash you’d tracked was coming from one of Argawal’s goons and you would have led the girls straight back to their captors. He managed to catch your flailing hand and began hauling the entire line of wobbling, half-stoned girls out of the room with Ballard laying down suppressing fire in the rear. Your red, streaming eyes managed to register that it looked like a couple of the employees and other bidders made it out of the room, one shoved aside by the nimble auctioneer as he sprinted down the hallway. Sirens grew louder as vehicles screeched to a halt outside, but it was apparently the private fire fighting company the wealthy in this enclave had hired. Still, aside from brusquely ushering you along, none of them seemed to notice the oddity of several very young girls in lingerie. _Probably because they’ve seen it before,_ you thought bitterly.

________________

_Keep her alive._

Pine grimly counted how many girls were staggering after Sirene. Twenty-three. They had most of the girls from the auction, he’d have to make peace with it. Because now he had to find a way to them the hell out of there. Hauling the long line of coughing girls out into the courtyard, he still held his gun upwards, another stolen from one of Argawal’s people tucked in the back of his trousers. Ballard backed away from the entrance, keeping his gun trained on the entrance. “How are we getting them out of here?” he shouted to Jonathan who looked around the grounds. There were luxury SUV’s parked here and there, but they needed keys. Only he and Ballard were in any shape to drive. The firefighters were still pouring off the two trucks, glancing uneasily at their guns as they went about the business of fighting the flames erupting from the upstairs windows. There was a series of smaller explosions within the house shattering some of the huge front plates of glass and making the girls scream. So no one heard the shots that nailed Ballard in the shoulder, another that took down the teenager in front of him, going through her leg. There were men racing out of the mansion, unfortunately well-armed and intent on stopping them. 

Cursing under his breath, Jonathan hauled up the bleeding girl with an arm around her waist and turned to see…

Well, of course. One of the fire trucks was still running, hoses snaking out onto the grounds and only two men were there by the giant vehicle, flipping switches and gears. Pointing his gun, he uttered, “MOVE!”

Even if they didn’t know English, the intent was clear, and the firefighters scattered as Jonathan yanked open the door closest to him. Cupping the back of Sirene’s head, he made sure she was looking at him. “Get as many as you can inside the truck, have the ones who look like they’re capable of holding on grab one of the outside seats.” She grinned loopily and nodded, pulling over the dark-haired girl he recognized from the picture of the missing Saudi girl, who pushed and pulled the confused young women in the direction of their new escape vehicle. Because most of the firefighters were now on the ground, trying to avoid being shot rather than quelling the flames, the smoke was billowing faster out of the broken windows and obscuring the shooters’ views of their targets. There was another scream as another girl was hit, but Sirene hauled her into the cab of the truck with an agility that made Jonathan hope some of the opium-induced slowness was leaving her. The men behind them were still shooting indiscriminately, and there were more yelps and screeches as bullets pinged off the truck and sidewalk, sending stone chips flying. Jonathan shoved Ballard into the driver’s seat. “You can’t hang on and shoot,” he said tersely, “get moving!” Swinging up beside Sirene as the man stomped on the gas pedal, Jonathan held onto the truck with an arm around her waist, his shoulder aching as he fired behind them, trying to keep his aim accurate.

“You know,” shouted Sirene, “it’s pretty lucky the fire’s in a rich part of town, because they pay attention to that shit here.” Two more firetrucks passed them as they barreled through the gate, confused expressions watching them flee from the fire, instead of heading toward it. It was a small, vicious little moment of satisfaction as she watched one of the hoses still flopping and dragging behind the truck take out two of Argawal’s goons in one, majestic sweep.

Then Miriam let out a whoop of satisfaction and shouted, "What you deserve, _an haram!"_ There was a giddy sort of cheer from the others and Jonathan gave a chuckle, imagining how they must look, a singed group of women in lingerie clinging to a packed fire truck like a group of demented monkeys.

________________

  
  


Sitting in an uncomfortable office chair and watching Jonathan tersely negotiating with a deeply alarmed British Embassy diplomat, you shifted in your seat, feeling the fireball shoot through your hip again. 

You’d been so stoned for the last few hours that it took an embassy employee to notice you were bleeding sluggishly on to the awful, industrial grey carpeting. “Uh, I’m sorry,” you apologized, too confused and tired to think of anything more creative. It was Jonathan’s angry exhortations that brought the doctor in who’d finished bandaging Ballard and the other girls to get a look at you. 

“That looks a bit painful, Agent Rogers,” she’d said, smiling at you knowingly before asking you to lie back on the already-bloody carpet so she could clean you up and stitch the wound.

“How’s uh…” you rubbed your forehead. “How’s everyone else? Is Miriam okay?”

Her careful stitches slowed as she injected a bit more lidocaine. “Which one is…?”

“Oh, very pretty, Saudi Arabian, long, dark hair and very brave?”

Her face cleared and she nodded, smiling a bit. “Very brave indeed. She didn’t notice a second-degree burn on her back, but she’s bandaged up and better now. She refused any pain medication, stating that the opium was quite enough for this experience. Now, may I check you for any other injuries?”

You were infuriated to learn that the bullet that grazed along the line of your hip wasn’t the only one: there was another that went through the meat of your calf and assorted burns, scrapes, and bruises that the doctor quickly and efficiently cleaned, stitched and bandaged, respecting your request for nothing more than a numbing agent for more sutures. When you'd asked for Jonathan, exhausted, you were momentarily paralyzed with misery when the doctor gave you another blank expression.

He wouldn't ... he wouldn't run out on you again, right?

But no, Agent Pine was still standing upright, his rigid British posture not betraying the fact that he’d apparently been shot as well. The shoulder he’d thought was “simply a bit achy,” also sported a bullet wound, that required a bit of “tinkering around,” as the doctor said, to retrieve the lump of metal wedged in his trapezius deltoid. 

The diplomat, who was on the phone with the ambassador and trying to relay the questions and answers between the two looked distinctly relieved when you gave short, specific and non-elaborative replies when filing your oral report. “If we’re finished here,” you said, “I’d like to check on the girls and then Agent Pine and I need some rest due to our multiple bullet wounds?”

Even the ambassador shut up after that and the two of you were escorted down to the others. Ballard was nearly unconscious, having seen the worst of the injuries, but he stirred enough to look the both of you over. “Are we all…?”

Jonathan nodded, “Everything’s taken care of. Can you rest?” But by then, your fellow agent was blissfully unconscious and you were longing to be in the same state.

You were escorted to a pull-out couch on the third floor of the Embassy, and a nice custodian offered you both towels, randomly gathered clothing and directions to the shower in the next room. When she left, you both stared at each other, exhausted. You were about to offer to let him go first, when Jonathan smiled. Ohhhh, you loved that smile. His kind smile, free of irony or artifice, simply concerned for your well-being. “Come, darling. Let me take care of you and you can sleep, all right?”  
  


Stupidly, you felt tears well up and you pressed the back of your hand against your eyes. “Yeah, okay. That would be … that would be nice.”

He was as good as his word, gently washing you in the warm spray, avoiding your bandaged areas and supporting you when you started weaving, too tired to stand upright. It was silent, other than the tapping of the water on the cheap tile flooring, the gentle gurgle of the drain as Jonathan cared for you. His hand reached out to turn off the shower and you shook your head, taking the soap from him. “Turn around.” He did, but slowly, stiffly and you could see the toll the day had taken. “Shhhh,” you soothed. “I have you.” Carefully running the suds across the wide expanse of his back, your fingers traced along multiple scars. There was a map of pain on your daddy’s skin that was heartbreaking to see, but you finished quickly, rinsing him with water and soft kisses until you were both clean, dry and dressed in something as he settled you into the bed and then curled around behind you, sliding one muscled arm over the curve of your waist and hip, linking your fingers together and kissing the back of your neck. 

“Goodnight, my beautiful brave girl,” Jonathan murmured. “Rest now.”

For the first time since you were thrown overboard from that monstrous yacht, you sighed deeply and allowed yourself to fully abandon yourself to sleep.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISE THAT IN THE NEXT CHAPTER THERE IS MUCH SMUT. LOTS, AND LOTS OF SMUT. Jonathan and Sirene have earned it. We have all earned it.


	12. The Sex Voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sirene and Jonathan simply cannot seem to seal the deal.

You’d woken up next to Jonathan Pine in perhaps a dozen different places. The elegant guest house in Italy, the palatial suite in the Maldives, the opulent hotel in Egypt, even in the desert in Saudi Arabia. But you’d never been happier to find yourself opening your eyes to see his clear gaze and the crinkles around his eyes from his genuine smile. Not the polite, guarded smile. But the real one. The sofa bed was uncomfortable to almost a punitive level, but you’d never felt better.

“Hey, Dadd-” You halted you stretching, smiling at him awkwardly.

“Good morning, love,” his lips were on yours, stroking lightly. One big hand came up to cup your cheek. “How do you feel?”

“Wonderful,” you couldn’t help your grin, “perfect.” Jonathan chuckled, rolling over to his side, propping his head on his hand and looking down at you.

“Perfect,” he said in a rare, teasing tone. “After indulging in 48 hours of arson, nearly incinerating yourself, drugged and dragged around a burning building in lingerie? Fire seems to have played a fairly significant role in your week.”

You laughed, even though it made the ribs on your left side creak a little ominously. “Yeah, well. I think I have a certain talent.” Sobering, it hit you. David. “I saw David get…” it took a minute to get your voice back. “I watched him die. He did everything, I-”

Had you thought about it, you might have hesitated about crying in front of Jonathan. Would this be one of those things that made him pull away? That he couldn’t accept from you? But instead, one heavily muscled arm went under your back to pull you on to his chest. His lips were on your forehead and then he rubbed your back until you slowed down. Lifting your head slightly, you cringed. His skin was wet from your tears and your runny nose. You did not cry pretty.

Jonathan seemed unperturbed, sitting up with a groan and leaning you both against the back of the sofabed. “It never gets easier,” he mused. “I am sorry that you had to see him die. But oddly,” he gave you a small smile, “I suspect, knowing David as I do, that it would please him to know the results. I’m proud of you both.”

Surging up to kiss him, you both groaned a little as your cut lip met his bruised chin, then you giggled as Jonathan placed little pecks along your jawline and then, softly as a featherfall on your mouth. “So brave,” he crooned, his fingers sliding into your hair to hold you to him. “So good and strong.” Angling his hips, he slid your thigh over his, stroking it with his other hand. You were still so sore, so drowsy that having him gently manipulate you felt like exactly what you needed. Two long fingers were sliding down your front, circling your nipples, dipping into your belly button, which made you cringe and squeal, and then spread to open your lips and bracket your clit, pulling on it gently. “Mmmmm…” his pleased growl at the base of your throat turned into a blissful shudder as it tickled along your spine. “How sore are you, little one?”

“Uh…” you knew he was asking a question, but it was getting hard to concentrate. “...Good?”

“Ah,” Jonathan said gravely, “you sound unsure, I will stop.”

You felt his fingers begin to pull away from your center and you tightened your thighs. “No! No, Daddy, I’m good, I feel fine, I feel…” Oh god, he was doing that thing with his fingers, that thing where he stroked along your clitoris and down to your channel, slipping inside to slick his fingers and bringing them back up again. His hips were already gently nudging against yours and you felt the heat and weight of his cock on your thigh growing. Sliding your hand down and gently grasping it, you huffed out a pleased little breath. Jonathan’s cock was really, a thing of beauty. Thick and long, a solid column of flesh that could bring blinding pleasure. It could connect the two of you in such a deeply intimate way. Having Jonathan inside you made you feel safe in a way you could never explain. But as your hand moved along him, twisting your wrist and stroking the head with your thumb, he groaned, dropping his head onto your collarbone. “I want to put this in you,” Agent Jonathan Pine’s smooth, exquisite inflection was rougher, a little slurred.

His thigh was between yours now, rocking you on the muscled surface, pressed hard against your center and you squeezed and stroked him. His hand slid to the small of your back, pressing you down harder, sliding you back and forth. You remembered the first time he’d done this to you, your dark daddy, making you come on his clothed thigh while you trembled and shook. His were like steel bands on your hips, but you didn't realize it until you found the little finger-shaped marks there later. When he chuckled into your ear, you flushed red. "I imagine, my sweet girl, that you are perhaps also recalling our first time, when you rode my thigh like such a delicious strumpet. You were breathtaking."

Hiding your hot face against his neck, you mumbled, "Was not." When he sharply flexed the muscles in his long thigh and pressed you even harder against it, you nearly choked on your gasp. You were still squeezing and stroking his cock, and you tentatively brought it to the opening of your channel. You both stilled for a moment, his gaze intent on your hand. Realizing it was the first time you had made such a bold move, you gave the smallest, most awkward shrug. “Do I have your enthusiastic consent, daddy?”

Throwing his head back, Jonathan laughed heartily. “Yes, please, darling. My very most fervent consent. My most ardent consent…” his sonorous voice choked off as you pushed your hips forward, legs entangled and he was buried inside you. Sliding his arms under yours, Jonathan curved one over your ass, the other crossing over your back to pull you closer. “Mmmmm…” he groaned, “each time I am inside you, it still surprises me, the feel of you.” He gave a long, slow thrust that made you shiver. “How sweet and warm.” Another thrust and a high-pitched whine escaped you. “I dream often of keeping you on my lap that night, you warming my cock so sweetly. I would-”

“OH! Oh, god I beg your pardon, I-”

You stifled a shriek as Jonathan whipped the sheet up over you, covering you up to the shoulders. A horrified aide was turning in one direction, then the other, trying to find a place to look that wasn’t at the two of you.

Cutting off the aide’s babbling attempts to amend the situation, Jonathan said crisply, “We shall be with you in ten minutes. Please leave.”

You had your head buried under his neck. Your first assignment with MI:6 and you’re caught in bed with your fellow agent. Yeah, that reeked of professionalism. Feeling Jonathan’s chest shake in silent laughter only added to your mortification. “It’s not funny!” you huffed, getting off the bed.

“-Agent Rogers?” the aide’s voice, muffled behind the door, “Agent Pine requested some clothes for you, I hope these fit. Again, I am so very sorr-”

“Thank you!” your voice cracked on the end of the words and Jonathan’s efforts to stifle his laughter were severely taxed. Seizing the outfit dropped on the floor in her haste to flee, you slithered into the bathroom to dress.

When the two of you headed downstairs, there was considerably more commotion, not to mention the presence of several armed agents. “No one’s trusting that Agarwal hasn’t tried to infiltrate the embassy,” Jonathan murmured to you. To your mutual fury, when firefighters and agents from three different countries went through the rubble, the bodies of Giovanni Bianchi, Piero Esposito, and four of the other bidders were found. But Debare Oni, Ekbal Agarwal, and the vile Carlotta were not.

You’d been hoping breakfast would be first on the schedule for that morning since you hadn’t had more than a couple of granola bars David had pulled from his luggage about 48 hours ago. But instead, you were joined by a rather battered-looking Ballard and ushered into a room with a secure connection to Angela in London. For once, she actually looked like she’d had a good night’s sleep. “You two pulled off one of the more impressive rescues in MI:6’s history,” she said with a hint of a chuckle, and the city of New Delhi is happy to overlook the theft of their firetruck. Particularly since one of the girls you saved is the mayor’s niece. Our cleanup crew and IB’s people managed to retrieve a rather vast amount of computer files and a hard drive or two from the compound. There are raids going on in three different countries as we speak.”

“That would be so satisfying,” you said longingly, and Jonathan raised a brow at you.

“Any word on the whereabouts of the three who escaped?” he asked Angela.

She pulled up a photo and split the screen so you could get a good look at it. “Agarwal succumbed to his injuries at a private clinic just outside the city.”

Looking at was left of the monster in his burned Gucci suit, you nodded. “Good. I can’t believe Oni and Carlotta escaped. Frankly, I think they’re more dangerous than the rest.”

“Agreed,” Angela sighed, “there’s some indication that they were injured, but there’s no sign of them. If we’re lucky, they’ll expire somewhere on their own and save us the trouble of burying them.”

Jonathan shook his head. “Our agency is not known for luck,” he remarked wryly.

"Here you are!" Miriam said happily, giving you a hug before scooting over to give you room to sit down at the embassy's cafeteria table. You caught up with the other girls between bites of waffles and eggs.

"Have you heard from your parents yet?" you asked.

Miriam's smile dimmed a bit, but she nodded. "They are sending four of my father's security team to bring me home."

“I’m sure he and your mother are ecstatic,” you assured her. “Jonathan told me that-” you lowered your voice, “-that retrieving you was the top priority.”

She looked surprised. “No more than any other girl here.”

You bumped her shoulder with yours, “And that’s why you are just this close to sainthood, Miriam!” You held your thumb and forefinger up together. “A freaking saint!”

“Be quiet, Sirene!” she laughed.

“Jonathan and I will make absolutely certain that your father knows what you did. You were the hero here,” you assured her.

Shaking her head, Miriam said sadly, “I do not think it will make a difference. It’s my fault I was kidnapped.”

“Okay, you need to cut that out right now,” you pushed your plate away. “You could have been taken anywhere. These monsters find their victims no matter what you do, no matter how careful you are. That’s why we have to end these fuckers. We have to make their end so horrible that up and coming scumbags think twice about human trafficking as a career choice.”

Miriam’s warm brown eyes were wide. “You can be a little scary sometimes, you know.”

“Thank you.” You clinked your glass of orange juice against hers.

It was a long and emotional day. You hugged each weeping girl and you all promised to check in on each other. Two of the younger girls who'd actually been sold to Agarwal by their parents were taken in by Prajwala. "It's perfect," you enthused to Jonathan, "these people are pioneers in anti-trafficking. They have one arm dedicated to legislation and pushing lawmakers, another that rehabilitates victims and places them with mentors and then the rescue team. They have the most fun."

He looked at your misty expression and fought a smile. "Why do I think you might be better suited for the more violent role in this operation? I shouldn't be surprised, I have seen your savage side before."

"Oh, admit it," you said, linking your arm with his. You were walking around the elaborate gardens in the back of the British Ambassador's house and enjoying the cooling evening wind. "I know you don't enjoy violence, I can see it every time you're forced to use it. But you do find it satisfying. At least sometimes."

Frowning thoughtfully, he looked down at you. "It always made me sick. I vomited daily in the military during active duty. With Roper … it was a struggle to not use my fists. But Carlotta…” You felt a chill run up your backside at his expression. “I did so long to end her in the most terrible way available to me. And that,” he paused, taking your chin in his hand and stroking your cheek with his thumb, “I have yet to feel guilt for.” It was an odd moment that would spark a makeout session, but you were feeling uncomfortably aroused - still - from that morning and you suspected that Jonathan abandoning his usual caution meant he was, too. “My beautiful, brave girl…” he murmured approvingly, pausing to kiss you again, running his tongue over your lower lip before sucking it into his mouth.

When he released you, you moaned, “Don’t do that! Not the Sex Voice when there’s nothing we can do about it.”

Jonathan seemed more interested in running his hand under your borrowed hoodie, stroking calloused fingers over smooth skin. But a smile twitched one corner of his mouth. “Sex voice?”

“Yes!” you protested, “That deep tone with perfect elocution and all hot and you know… British?” You waved your hands vaguely as he grinned, still stroking your waist and just under your breasts. “And you have that …” his big, rough hands were still moving and you were losing your train of thought. “...that perfectly cultured ‘I went to Cambridge’ intonation that really…” Yeah. Your ability to rub two brain cells together was gone because Jonathan was cupping your breasts, nudging them free from their bralette and gently pulling on your nipples. 

“Oh, do go on, little one,” he urged, bending his head to run his tongue along the pulsing cord in your neck. “Please tell me more about my ... sex voice. Does it tell you how badly I need to be inside you? Very high up inside you and spreading you wide?” The solid wall of his chest against yours gave you something to lean against, which was lucky since you weren’t all that steady on your feet. The garden was quiet around you, aside from some birds singing their last song before the sun set. Jonathan smelled so _good_ , warm, like how the sun felt on your skin. A hint of crisp cotton and a dash of some expensive cologne. His face was scratching along your neck a bit - he hadn’t shaved since yesterday and you remembered how that stubble felt against your most sensitive parts. You didn’t notice that he’d led you to the garden wall, pressing your back against the warmth of the stone and one hand slid down to catch your thigh and lift it to rest against his hip. 

Despite the fact that you were in the formal gardens of the British Ambassador to India and this was an appalling breach in behavior, you rubbed your center shamelessly against the promising thickness of his cock. “This is killing me, daddy,” you moaned, not even noticing what you’d called him. “We can’t- we should- uh…”

Those unfairly talented hands moved down to grab your ass, squeezing a bit crudely and Jonathan made a guttural noise of pleasure. “Rub yourself against me, darling. Take your pleasure from me. You’ve been such a good girl, haven’t you?” When you made some sort of high-pitched affirmative sound, he chuckled again. “Go on, I’ll take mine from you later. Many times.” 

One hand slid behind his neck so you could reach up and kiss him, stopping the luscious, filthy, lovely flow of talk from Jonathan’s mouth, and your other one reached down to squeeze his perfect ass. This made his hips jolt against you. Hard. And you were so close, oh god, you were so damn close and-

“Agents Pine and Rogers? The Ambassador would like to speak with you before-”

 _Goddamnit!_ you wailed inwardly, _why, why can’t I have one moment to just-_

“We’ll-” you cleared your throat as Jonathan set you back down on your feet. “We’ll be right there, thank you.”

Ambassador Weatherford met with the two of you in his beautiful office, trying to clarify some information and offer you new developments. He was, you thought, exactly what Central Casting would have selected for a Very Important Political Official: silvered hair, wore a suit well and carried the appropriate sense of gravitas. But when he leaned back against his leather chair, he looked kind. “I wanted to introduce the two of you to one of our best analysts.” The slim young man at the end of the desk pushed up his glasses and gave you both an awkward wave. “This is Kim Huang. He’s worked extensively with Agent David Bankole. They are - were married, in fact.”

Your professional demeanor was moments from crumbling. “I’m so, so sorry, Kim. I’m terribly-”

He shook his head. “You think you could keep David from hotwiring half of Kolkata?” He smiled at you, even though his eyes were red. “But I wanted you to see something, both of you. This is the part you rarely get to enjoy.” Kim whipped open a sleek Stealth MacBook Pro, and turned the screen to you and Jonathan. “This is footage from the raids today on the three sex resorts run by Agarwal.” 

The footage was clearly from helmet cams, and it was dark and shaky. But the important details were crystal clear. Guards mowed down, madames handcuffed and confused and crying children and young women taken from buildings painted in bright, primary colors with adorable puppies and teddy bears, another resort featured grim, terrifying-looking structures that clearly pointed to a darker form of entertainment. Watching a group of children gently gathered together by a group of nuns, you began absently wiping the tears streaming down your face. Jonathan pressed a tissue into one wet hand. “Thank you,” you said distractedly. Turning to Kim, you asked, “How many were rescued?”

His eyes were suspiciously bright, but he looked deeply pleased with the footage as well. “From the ring in Thailand, 157. In Kolkata, 389. And in the Brazilian child resort, over 400. They’re safe now.”

Jonathan’s voice was steady and ice-cold. “How many kills? How many arrests?”

Kim’s smile was hard. “We’ve taken over 238 known traffickers and ‘clients’ into custody. The Indian government is not sympathetic or merciful in these cases. And 127 dead.”

Leaning forward, you put your hand by his, wanting to shake it, or hold it, or something. “Thank you, Kim. I know I didn’t know David long, but he was so passionate about this, so completely focused on ending this filth.”

Patting your hand quickly and retreating, Kim wiped off his smudged glasses. “I know. That’s the only thing that makes this … it’s bearable, you know? I can accept it.”

It was very late by the time Weatherford let you free from his office, but his wife met you just outside the door. "I know you must be exhausted," she was guiding you rapidly down a palatial hallway and onto a small lift. "We have a more private wing of the house we keep for visiting dignitaries, and I think you'll be more comfortable there. A bit more space." 

_That British understatement,_ you thought with admiration. _In the US we'd just say, 'No one wants to hear the screaming and bed banging all night._

And when Mrs. Weatherford shut the door and you heard the muffled "ding!" of the lift taking her away, you had just enough time to yelp as Jonathan was ripping the hoodie over your head, pushing you against the wall as your borrowed yoga pants and undies met the same fate. Framing your face in his hands, he kissed you, hard, pressing his mouth sloppily against yours. “Tomorrow,” he said hoarsely, “I shall devote hours to bringing you to orgasm over and over with my mouth on your cunt, my fingers inside you, my teeth on your nipples. And when you’re spent and shaking and covered in sweat, I will fuck you until you come again. I will write the number of your finishes on your body with your own slick.” You could taste a bitter, coppery tang as he kissed you hard enough to press your lips against your teeth. Jonathan was fumbling with the waistband of his trousers, customary grace forgotten. “But right now, I intend to impale you on my cock and bounce you up and down until you come all over me. Until your release is dripping down my thighs.” 

“Oh, well,” you were trying to think of the correct response, Jonathan saved you the trouble by sliding his forearms under your thighs and hoisting you, spreading you wide and then he was inside you. Higher than you imagined a cock could be, pressing and rubbing furiously against all sorts of soft and sensitive places and he plowed through your body. His thrusts were hard and kept knocking you against the expensive walnut wainscoting on the wall, but you tightened your arms around his shoulders, hearing his gritted teeth make a huffing sound every time he pushed back inside you. 

It was messy, inelegant. Filthy. And it took you less than three minutes or so to come the first time. It didn’t stop Jonathan, who simply yanked your legs wider, biceps flexing as he thrust harder. He slammed up your passage as if he was trying to put all of himself inside you. “I made them search the harbor for you,” he gasped, “went up in the helicopter over the ocean. I could not accept a world without you in it.”

Jonathan whirled and plonked your ass on the desk, shoving off the blotter and stationary. “And then-” he groaned, “and then, I see you being dragged into that auction, drugged, in that revolting lingerie, those men looking at my Sirene?”

You tried to answer, but your teeth clacked together painfully and you moaned, gripping his sweaty shoulders and back, trying to keep a grip on the man pounding you into next week.

"And then," his teeth were still grinding together and you were half alarmed, half completely turned on. "And then, you've wired a bomb from nothing but beauty products, set Agarwal's hell hole aflame and save all those girls. You are-" You stifled a shriek as he not-quite threw you onto the bed, bouncing a bit but miraculously his cock stayed inside you. “-magnificent. Courageous. Audacious. A superb agent in every way. And I am not certain I will ever be able to stop fucking you.”

As it happened, Jonathan eventually did, after you came twice more and began begging him to come, the muscles in your thighs shaking and your hands slipping on his sleek, sweaty musculature. He threw his head back, fair skin red, and the veins in his forehead and neck standing out. You’d not seen him so savage, so greedy for you since that time together in Egypt as the Nile River flowed past your balcony, drowning out your moans and gasps. 

Smoothing back his wildly disordered hair, you smiled sleepily when this beautiful, controlled and careful man kissed you one last time, mindful of your (again) split lower lip. "I love you, Sarah, Sirene, little one, angel... whatever name you call yourself I will love you ever the same."  
  


You wanted to say it back, tell him you’d never stopped loving him, never stopped waiting for him even after all those months had passed. But instead, you fell asleep, Jonathan’s cock still inside you and his raspy whispers of love in your ear.

  
  



End file.
